


sonnet eighteen

by xsupremwx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsupremwx/pseuds/xsupremwx
Summary: Celine has always considered herself a bit of a masochist emotionally, but everything evolves to a different level when she starts trying to pick up piece by piece from someone who buried his heart with his wife."I wait at the door as if I were just a child,I use my best paints for your portrait. I set the table with all the fancy stuff and watch you tolerate it. If it's all in my head, tell me now, tell me that I got it wrong somehow. '"
Relationships: Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was conceived with great care and love.

"How can I compare you to a summer day?"

\- William Shakespeare

It was raining the first day she found him, or rather, he found her. It was raining gracefully behind the large stained-glass windows, like a painting gleaming the selfish tones trapped in the sky of the oldest cathedrals. The gray sky baptized the red reflection, bouncing lights hit the ivory floor of the large room and the droplets of rain shade part of the poorly painted walls in an almost dark shade of dark cream. But it was warm, warm and comfortable to try to placate the dank, smelly sweat that populated the tormented streets of a gloomy London. It was raining so hard that Celine spent long, pale minutes staring at the rain, the massive clouds and her complete stupidity, she most certainly remembered that she had heard the weather on television the moment she tried to swallow a toast and run so as not to lose her subway. Still, here she was, completely fucked up while she admired the torrential rain that seemed sacred when she baptized the green grass of the campus.

It was raining even harder when the door opened mercilessly, firm steps rattling against the freshly cleaned floor and the click of the door being pulled back again. Celine was ready to give her more than a welcome to Helena, her very gracious advisor but who was absolutely never wearing anything less than a big pointed and annoying heel, so she assumed, those black shoes like the night, especially waxed, no they should belong to your advisor. She slowly lowered her book from her face and raised her blackened eyes only to behold one of the most absurdly beautiful creatures that had ever crossed her path, her breath was abruptly withdrawn the moment she contemplated the beautiful pair of eyes infinitely green like freshly watered grass, the long and deeply sexy curved and spacious nose, tightly pressed thin lips and clear, blond hair turning white slowly and very, very sensually. Celine had to bite the inside of her cheek in order not to emit the moan that was stuck in her throat, heavens! You cannot be real. She considered sleeping, dreaming of that man wrapped in a gift in a navy blue suit that made the width of his shoulders obvious and his pale neck hidden in the white collar, wrapped in the tie just as red as she would have thought his lips would be. That thought floated out of her flow when Celine noticed, for the first time, how indignant this beautiful, really beautiful, man was looking right in front of her and she felt her chest sink and her heart explode. She felt overwhelmed, as if she had just been caught stealing something damn, as if she were just a kid again being captured while trying to sneak some candy from the fridge in the dead of night.

\- What are you doing here? - And yes, certainly she shouldn't have dismissed that dream hypothesis so quickly, there was no way between heaven and earth that could explain the reason for this unscrupulous thing in front of her to sound like a damn erotic dream. Celine tasted blood flooding her mouth as she tried to breathe without sighing, his voice, quite obviously, was her most sensual quality, she noted mentally. Obscurely deep and delightfully slow, he could be talking about how badly she looked and there would still be hairs on her body rising everywhere.

\- I ... - she coughed, trying to clear her throat - I am Professor Helena's advisor, she offered me her office to work on my article while I'm not in class. —Less than two seconds and she was already as scared as a student caught cheating on the exam. But the man, the diabolical creature sent only to mess with his head, already quite shaken, raised a damn, very wretched, bushy eyebrow and looked at her as if she could read her thoughts.

\- Can I help you with anything, professor? - Celine insisted, gathering all her sense of self-mutilation as she prepared to be spit like a stray cat. Unexplainedly handsome men with a voice capable of seducing the Queen of England are never kind, it was never the norm. - I can go, if you need to use the room. Professor Helena informed me that she shared her office, but she assumed that you would not use the room that afternoon. "Just as she didn't inform me that you are a very, very, wet dream.

"This is not necessary, I'm just here to get some documents." - The professor replied, without taking his eyes off Celine and she concluded that maybe he was just trying to pressure her enough to confess any of her crimes.

"Okay, thanks, then." - Her freshly washed dark hair bounced against her face as she stretched again. silently on the spacious leather sofa, pulling the pencil from her ear and transcribing that quote from her book, her hands felt a little shaky now, she noted nervously. Her lyrics were no longer good enough when she was completely focused, now that she had her stomach melted, they were just unreadable scrawls. She tried, if any deities in the room were watching her, he could report that she tried. Much. But it was no use when his woody scent pierced her lungs as the man rummaged through the wooden shelves on the wall in front of her, his long fingers fumbling through some folders until she found what she wanted. He propped himself up on one leg, tilting his hips as he opened the yellowish folder and scanned the inside with intent eyes, a minute later his hands were pulling on a thin prescription glasses with a delicately silver frame and hanging it over his sharp nose, just to re-read the document lines. Celine massaged her temple as she reflected on how much she was in desperate need of sex, because she certainly wouldn't be spying on every gesture by the very handsome unknown man old enough to be damned her father, if she was having enough sex. But she wasn't and she always had that dramatic crush on men much older than her, her heart stumbled the moment the teacher closed the folder, collected the separate books on the other table in the room and walked back to the couch she was on. .

"Will you be taking class from your advisor today?" Her hair looked even more whitish against the playful glow of the ornate windows.

\- Yes, first class. ”Her eyes flew almost unashamedly to the pallor present on her pale neck, the tie looked so good around her epidermis, the clothes covered it like a birthday ribbon.

\- Please, miss ...? ”Celine blinked a few times before straightening her spine against the curve of the spacious sofa and looking at least decent.

\- Mitchell. He still had his brow stubbornly raised and she completed it with a half sincere smile. - Celine Mitchell. -

"Please, Celine, tell your advisor to send me an email as soon as possible so that I can send you my new phone number," her left hand looked clear against the hard spines of the yellowed books, the student waved softly and smiled in response. - I'm sorry to have interrupted your studies, have a good rest in the afternoon. —When he turned back to the door and walked in short steps, she almost groaned and asked him to stay and read each of the books she was whispering holding tightly to her ear, she just didn't . "Lock the door when you leave." - Celine released her breath just a minute after the door had been properly closed, she battled for a few seconds before getting herself a steaming cup of coffee and trying to immerse herself again in the analysis of the work she should be doing, it's not like she had plenty of time to daydream about pretty teachers and voices of throwing themselves over the precipice. She also locked the door, securely, twice, before she managed to make her legs safe enough to go down the dark stairs and walk through the cold drizzle that covered the campus that day.

Usually, Celine never had dinner properly before her classes. But today she needed to put something in her stomach or she would be having a possible terrible drop in pressure even before the end of her class, so the girl surrendered to the survival instincts that hammered her hollow belly and sat dangerously in one of the wooden chairs from the cafeteria in front of the building where her classes were to take place. The waitress was polite and friendly while patiently taking her order, taking no more than ten minutes to serve that generous piece of warm brownie and espresso with honey instead of crystallized sugar. Her stomach, after long and difficult hours of constant fasting, thanked her in a pleasant murmur as she got what she wanted. Celine ate her meal alone until the chair at her desk was dragged across the tile floor and a blond hair took over her field of vision with eyes lighter than the day.

\- You better have an excuse good enough not to take my calls." A piece of her brownie was looted and she grinned, teeth showing all this time.

"Sorry, I put him on silent or I wouldn't be able to concentrate on research." Rosie stared at her with eyes as blue as the dark sea, her blond hair was caught in that tall ponytail that made her face look even more angular, the pointed chin, small, slightly drawn eyes and long, drawn-in mouth on hard cheeks.

\- Helena gave you your room as a privilege for being your sugar Mommy? ”Her tone was always defiant, eyebrows dancing and shoulders pointing forward. Rosie Johnson has been a model for years, more years than she dared to admit, navigating the mirrored walkways and undressing in meticulous photo shoots. All the toxic glamor moved her head directly and she ended up stopping at the hospital with severe anemia while battling a serious eating disorder, from time to time Celine still caught her spending all day without drinking anything but water and iced tea, in those days she always found a way to fake an unscrupulous hunger and convince her friend to buy her a fatty snack. On good days, she and Rosie ended up eating a delicious pizza at that restaurant next to her apartment.

\- Believe me, you will be prevented from paying any other chair in that department if she dreams about it - recently, Rosie had discovered that little obsession with the professor of literature theory, perhaps it was the short black hair or the deliberate form that she appeared in classes with cruelly sensual dresses and cruelly brushed lips. Celine had to admit, neither had she been unharmed by her advisor's charms, the woman was a lost piece of a Renaissance painting. A very straight picture, she assumed.

"There's something under that little face, I'm sure. "Another piece of her brownie being ransacked, the brunette discreetly pushed the plate over to her friend and pretended not to rejoice every moment she watched her chew.

\- Of course you know, just don't mention my name when she expels you from the university. The ex-model laughed and rolled her blue eyes.

\- So, did you check her office? ”Her coffee was already warm when she swallowed the rest of the dark liquid in her pale cup.

\- Not even if I wanted to, the professor who shares office with Helena appeared there wrapping it up like an erotic dream. - She lamented, pushing her curly hair away from her face, resting her chin on her hand and facing her friend with sad eyes. "Beautiful eyes, almost white hair and an orgasmic chasing voice. So cruel." She completed it automatically, making a dramatic pout.

\- Green eyes and rich suit? The blonde offered, chewing on the last piece of brownie, "Speak slowly enough that you assume he thinks you're dumb as a door?" —Mitchell chokes on his water but gently nods— Alan Rickman's bastard, believe me, he's not just you wet dream wrapped up in a designer suit. There is a rumor that a student already accidentally called him Daddy in the middle of a class, I cannot deny that I understand her.—

"You really need to work on your Electra complex," And even though her voice twisted into a hoarse laugh, she was telling the truth, even though the warning should be given to herself as well. Celina regularly visited a psychologist last year. So, is he from the letters department? "It wasn't like she was willing to rearrange her academic schedule just to sit for an hour listening to that man talk and talk about anything he taught.

\- Unfortunately not, arts department. He taught art history last summer, I can't say which chairs he took during this period. ”Mitchell paid the bill in a minute, putting the yellowed receipt in his mailbag and walking beside Rosie down the grass road to her department. The woman was much taller than she was, her neck really hurt when they spent a lot of time talking and Celine needed to lift her head to face her— I went to more of his lectures that I can tell, almost every month he is presenting some research in the auditorium of the history building. Believe me, the room is always full and I can bet money that half of the chairs are people willing to pay to hear his voice.

"Count on company next time," he joked, half-smiling and half-moaning as they walked up the noisy department stairs. "But doesn't he have a wife, or a husband?" -

"Not that I know of, but he doesn't wear a ring." They say he had an affair with a student once, but it is the same rumor they make about all the professors at the university. -They were already in front of their classroom door now, chairs in a dark sky blue, half the room had already given up on the course and with each new period more chairs became vacant. Which was good for Celine, who could now choose her seat carefully and not run down the halls to get a damn chair, as in the first period. She was still reflecting on Rosie's words when Helena stepped into the door in a snow-white dress, her black hair pinned at the top of her head with a few strands escaping her shoulders and a deep V-neck leaving the traces of her breasts sample. The class collectively almost sighed when she smiled, damn white teeth and lips carved in bloody red, no one, absolutely no one, could get past her charming charm. Helena was an exception, and even though Celine had always preferred women over men, her teacher was really very different from any other woman who had ever crossed her life. Rosie, unlike her, had only experience with men and yet, if Helena winked at her, the girl would float up to her lips like a cupid.

\- She does it on purpose, it can only be on purpose. ”Rosie moaned beside her, trying to get ready in the uncomfortable chair in her baggy jeans and patterned T-shirt with the friendly face of a pale rockstar. Celine could easily agree with her sentence, after all, now that the woman was her advisor she did not spare him the warm touches and whispered words in her soft voice. In fact, if the girl was sincere with herself, she could admit that one of the big reasons for choosing Helena as her mentor was not only her experienced and intelligent head, but her cutting charm. Helena was, unlike the other literature professors in the department, severe with a softened pulse. She knew how to fold her students and stuff them into her pocket, her voice might be soft but her demands were as clear as water. The class dragged on most of the time, while the ex-model tried to copy what the woman said and the teacher persisted pulling and pulling the room to reach her limits regarding the text she had passed in the last class.

\- I will release you five minutes early, don't get used to it, I intend to charge them later. The woman announced, after finishing the call and erasing the board, "Celine, dear, can you wait for me?" - She questioned, before being enveloped in a web of students taking their recent doubts.

\- Sure, teacher. "Celine took the time to store her stuff, looking for the key to the office she intended to return and ask Rosie to wait for her in the hall." Here, I really don't know how to thank you. -She spoke, when the woman finally got rid of the questioning students.

\- Stop it, the pleasure was all mine. "The woman looked like a touch addict, kissing her cheek with red lipstick and smiling with impeccable teeth." I hope everything went well.

\- Yes, Professor Rickman asked you to contact him by email as soon as possible. - She handed it over, curling her toes.

\- Did you meet that terrible creature? "Her teacher teased her, after putting the books in her bag." I hope he didn't bother you. "

\- No way, he just went to get some documents and was surprised to see me. - which was true, except for the part he probably assumed was a student stealing his precious hardback books. Her advisor took her word, stuffed the office key into the pocket of her denim overalls and assured her that she could use her office whenever she wished. Her body shivered the moment her coffee breath touched her cheek and she walked out of the room, her words tattooed on her skin.

The second time she sees him, it is not raining, which is new in the city of London. This time she was aware that she would find him, the thought had been held before her eyes like a broken picture frame that her pupils were trying to avoid. It had all started just a few days after their meeting, a few days since she had been introduced to her green eyes and her deeply disturbing voice, she still spent her afternoons gently focused on her research material while feeling that soft bubbling in her belly, the formidable anticipation that consumed her bones whenever the hour progressed and she secretly wished that he would slide through the heavy door and question her with a ruthless eyebrow and an almost unforgivable perfume. But he hadn’t gone through the doors, he hadn’t pried her presence like auncomfortable piece of glass right under the soft sole of her covered foot and Celine tried not to be disappointed. Until at the end of Wednesday Helena walked up to her with long dark lashes and a smile that could be categorized as indecent, pulling a black invitation from her desk pencil skirt and handing it over with sensitive fingers.

"I'm not accepting denials for that invitation," the almost sinuous way his shoulders were raised against the thick fabric of his black coat denounced his abrasive posture. "It's dinner for my birthday, I wat make sure that you are gonna be there." "And it must be a crime, something against the law, to look so sweet and so spectacularly gentle while wearing high heels worthy of a sex club."

\- I'll be there. -Celine replied, even though she was highly considering faking a contagious cold and staying at home, under her comfortable and safe covers. It's not like she has any clue what to buy for her advisor, let alone what kind of clothes to wear on such an occasion and even worse, how many of her teachers would be at that damn party.

Mitchell obviously took the safest route when he entered a small, well-known bookstore, going through the big shelves before deciding between the hardcover version of his favorite author's poetry book. Sylvia Plath adorned the hard cover of the greenish work was covered with golden gift wrapping in shades of white, she also bought a much more expensive bottle than she could afford a port wine and wrapped it together in the middle gift box. The college student still spent a couple of hours choosing a new outfit to wear on that occasion, a simple dress looked too elegant, but a denim jumpsuit with a button top also looked too casual. Even with clear doubts about the best clothes to take, she decided to take the tight skirt that covered her calves in pink fabric and that dark button-down shirt with short sleeves.

The moment Clarice saw her taxi park on the glass facade of the Italian restaurant covered in rustic brick walls, she regretted leaving the house. But now there was no way to ask the unsmiling taxi driver who watched her with judging eyes to turn around, so after spreading out a couple of bills and rejecting change, she finally put her medium heels on the level street and balanced herself painfully on her legs. to face the place of your slaughterhouse. The way the wind shook her thin fabric blouse half open just to reveal her extremely expensive lace bra made her sick, her curly hair stuck in that classic pile on top of her face made her so different, leaving only the two white strands that she , regularly, retouched surrenders to his cheeks. The friendly waiter who greeted her looked like one of her classmates, but she tried to ignore that information while being gently guided inside and asked what she would like to drink.

When Helena said it would be just dinner to celebrate her birthday, Celine really thought it would be a small group of people gathered at a large table talking about trivia while they were gradually getting drunk. Looking back now, she had been just as dumb as she could, that was Helena and absolutely nothing about her was trivial. Taking a good look around now, she understood. The restaurant had been rented for that night, a big table in its center with his closest friends and a few other tables around that one, with other people willing to celebrate his birthday. The music blew a soft voice in her ear as she was accompanied by the excited waiter, she didn't know if that was the standard procedure or the man was just taking her so she could get rid of the shiny box in her hand.

\- Celine! Celine, dear. “Helena was drunk, of course. The girl was an hour late and her teacher already had red cheeks and an alcoholic breath, "I thought you wouldn't be coming anymore." "Her skinny arms wrapped around her neck, the floral scent stuck to her hair when she kissed her cheek." Is that for me? You really are a find.—

\- Happy birthday, Helena. The brunette whispered, placing the box in her advisor's hands.

\- Come, I want you by my side. ”The woman practically wrapped herself around her arm like a snake, pulling out an empty chair in the middle of the table and inviting her to sit. Celine really tried to indicate that she could sit at another table, but her teacher shut her up with a soft kiss on the hand and went back to her place. As she straightened up against the uncomfortable chair, she joyfully noticed that there were none of her teachers at that table, and an almost relieved sigh left her lungs.

Her relief lasted a minute, just long enough for her eyes to reach the elegantly dressed man in a striped suit nicely seated to her left. The tremor that covered her hands was enough that her little velvet pouch almost escaped her and she almost had to bend over like a child to get it back. And she noticed, she unfortunately noticed, the hallucinating smell that escaped through her pale skin covered in expensive fabric - Be polite, this is my golden girl. "Helena announced, lips flushed with wine," Daniel, don't try to steal my student, I'll keep an eye on you. "Daniel, she looked up at the man who was laughing under his glass of dark beer. He didn't seem strange, even with the thin red beard covering his chin and his eyes absurdly dark, maybe he was a professor in her department, she just hadn't taken classes with him yet.

\- It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mitchell. Your teacher speaks highly of you. ”His voice was almost rectangular and sharp, while the others seemed to have established an almost secret rhythm of conversation, he was speaking to her across the table.“ You still remain firm in your choice of research. ? -

\- As firm as I can. She replied, while the friendly and generous waiter who directed her to her table stopped at her left side. Her eyes flew to an educated teacher who was talking softly to the woman next to her, quite beautiful, sculpted features and small nose and drawing, maybe Rosie was wrong after all. Perhaps the man had a girlfriend, or a wife. She forced herself to turn her eyes to the waiter and smile as nicely as she could, the man handed her the drink menu and she swept her dark eyes over the letters, "I'm going to have a glass of Churchill's Vintage, for kindness. ”She watched the man next to her swallow her glass of red wine, the smell told him that he was drinking something French, at least it seemed in good taste.“ Thank you very much. -

\- A good taste for drinks, a good taste for research. What other secrets do you hide? -Celine noticed the weight of those words directly on her jugular, but she caught Helena's soft gaze on her conversation and displayed the biggest smile she could.

\- I was also informed that I also have a great taste for women. - She announced her, as quietly as she could. But her supervisor was already choking on a laugh so loud that the entire table seemed to follow her example, she vaguely registered the deeply drawn sound of the shy laugh of the man beside her, her first impulse was to turn to face him, but she she was too busy staring at the smiling redhead in front of her.

\- Now you see why she is my golden girl?" The teacher indicated, remnants of laughter dissolving her voice.

\- What is the subject of your research? -Celine already had her glass of wine now, the alcohol content hammering behind her throat as her eyes wandered over to the woman who was once very much grounded in lively conversation with the art teacher on her left. The woman offered her a friendly smile as she sipped her glass of rosé wine, Celine tilted her nose in disgust for her choice, rose was never good, neither were the French.

"The eroticization of death in Sylvia Plath's poems," she confessed, sliding her tongue gently over her lips as she sipped the remnants of the bitter wine, it had been a few months since she had the opportunity to enjoy her drink without constantly thinking about the academic duties that I still had to do when I got home - I use Freudian logic to tear apart the attraction that the lyrical self of the works has with death, from sexual attraction to romantic affection. -

\- Oh, it really looks interesting. ”She replies, blond hair almost turning white at the side closest to her forehead and the strands behind the back of her neck that fall into her large oval neckline. The red pendant swayed as she spoke, the jewel stood out against her tanned skin, it was certainly not a tan acquired in London. One of my students investigated the figure of death in Van Gogh's creations, it is always a subject of great interest. - Do you already have a personal opinion about your research? —His cup was already half full when she managed to face the serious face of the man between her and the envious tanned woman, unlike the others at the table, he was very interested only in watching while the two women beside him were chatting .

\- Personally, - her system alcohol was enough that she leaned forward slightly and pretended to whisper - but don't let Helena know. "The woman offered him a smile so beautiful it could light up the entire restaurant." Personally, I share the French thinking about it. They have this concept very well ingrained when they named an orgasm as la petite mort, death is mysterious, it is enough for us to be immediately attracted to her— The woman seemed very interested in her words and that was enough to untie her knot. exacerbated shyness, —And of course, when we are attracted to some mystery, we idealize it. That is why there are concepts like heaven and hell, an idealized explanation of a doubt that we cannot solve. As well as the personification of death and its eroticization, another fantasy concept to answer a question that we cannot answer. -

\- How old are you? —It was Daniel, arched red eyebrows and opaque beer eyes.

\- Twenty two. ”Celine murmured, finishing her wine. Daniel spat a curse under the glass, now replenished with dark liquid.

\- Unbelievably smart for your age, I must confess. "That little piece of endorphin immediately slid through your brain, what could she do?" Celine was a validation bitch, she could only blame the dark confusion of her traumatic childhood for that unfair sequel. - Don't you think about jumping into art? -

\- Emma, don't be cynical. The red-haired professor murmured, accusingly in the middle of a smile.

I'm checking, we could make a good team, you know? Her dark eyes sparkled when she blinked, offering a welcoming smile. - Art history, perhaps? Alan directed a thesis with texts from Dante's hell, didn't you? -

The wine slid back into his bloodstream like poison as the man with almost white hair sent his departmentmate a quiet look, only to return his deliciously green eyes back to Celine and his curly hair. He still seemed distant when he swallowed a sip of wine and finally introduced himself in the middle of the conversation, the student was under the impression that he would only remain watching if Emma had not summoned him indirectly. - I did, it is true. A good thesis, but I'm afraid we haven't explored the dynamics of death as closely as you do. -

\- I believe there were other sins besides lust to be properly explored. - He suggested, unable to take his eyes off the almost entirely green irises.

\- My student chose to take the romantic path, we explored the threshold of romantic love and Eros love in Belatrice's struggle to rescue Dante. ”Her voice continued to consume the environment, like thick, sticky smoke clinging to the white tablecloth and the dark blouse on her chest, surrounding her neck like a necklace and seeping into her airways. Celine added that she had never tried to understand the work purely in a romantic way and the man very promptly assumed an almost professional posture while reciting the points that were raised in that thesis, Emma no longer seemed interested in his conversation and at that time, they were too involved in themselves comparing the diabolical and romantic versions of that work. She registered her smile when she commented on the teenage nerves present on the first date and he agreed, his smile growing as her laugh shook his broad shoulders in the blackened striped jacket. The conversation continued, less excited, as the main course was served and he made a whispered comment about the appearance of her fish and she commented that it couldn't be that bad.

\- Prove it. —The art history professor announced, simply, a little suspicious of stirring the white piece of steamed fish in the middle of the cold salad set." Having dubious thoughts? -

\- It can't really be that bad. ”She repeated, using her fork and knife to break a small piece of white meat and bring it to her mouth, leaning back in her chair and chewing the warm contents on her hard palate. The fish was not bad, she concluded, the refined taste of white wine amid the faulty amount of salt and the acidic amount of excess lemon, but it wasn't really bad. - It's not bad, but there is no salt and there is a lot of lemon. If you don't like it, you should order another dish. ”Professor Alan did not respond to her comment, but silently raised a piece of his meal to his lips, offering her an unreadable look as she continued to feed. Celine took this as a positive response and returned to her own plate, the little raviolis balanced in the middle of the spicy white sauce in which they were bathed, there was no salt, but she assumed that the chef was saving anyone from getting a hypertensive condition for themselves. 

After dessert, which she refused and preferred to just enjoy another glass of her port. People really started to socialize, Helena was taken to dance by one of the teachers at the table by the wall and the music was almost romantic as he guided her around the room with her curly hair and youthful features. Daniel removed the woman from his left to compose the dance floor and so the table was cleared and everyone was forced to stand, as an obligation so that the bastards could actually do something. Celine pulled the cue and looked for the female toilet, her face still looked fine, even though her hair was making her look so serious. She touched up her lipstick and chose to remove the hairpins that kept her curls caged, brown layers of open curls were spilled on her dark blouse, a lock infiltrated her open neckline and she ended it up as almost sensual. After fixing her tight skirt and spreading her neckline open, she left the bathroom with soft steps and returned to the lounge, now more excited than ever, while ordering a new glass of wine for one of the waiters. Celine strategically chose to lean against the wall to the right of the dance floor, where the lights were yellow and her presence could be half hidden in the gloom while she silently enjoyed her wine. Her hiding place did not last long, Emma invaded her space in her long red dress and extending her pale hand towards herself. The girl left her bag and drink on the small unoccupied table and followed her to the floor.

\- I'm not a good dancer, I must warn you. - Celine announced, when her hands went around his bare shoulders. But Emma was a great dancer, long fingers on her hips as she swirled her sweetly in almost indulgent waves to the painfully sweet rhythm of the music. The woman was singing something about being proposed and having denied the request, when Emma took her hand and turned her against her, Celine smiled shyly and registered the almost sweet scent of her perfume. They danced two more songs before Daniel asked him for a song, and he, unlike Emma, was as hard and rigid as steel in his arms. Her hands almost ached around her waist and he smelled of alcohol and cigars, but her breath was gentle against her jaw when he hugged her gently and remained guided by the powerful tone of the romantic melody. Celine liked to dance with him, after all, it was almost sensual. Before her drink was replaced by a new one, she managed to dance with Helena who deliberately stole a kiss, very, very hot, on the curve just below her ear and left Mitchell burning from the strands of her hair to the thumb of her foot.

When she did, she slipped out to cool off with some water and sit at one of the deserted tables. Emma was dancing with Alan now, she noticed, and they seemed naturally familiar with that. Rosie was wrong, after all. The wet gift wrapped in suits had a girlfriend, a beautiful, sweet, gentle and intelligent girlfriend. She felt almost bad when she realized that she couldn't at least settle for despising that woman, not when she had been so special in welcoming her to the table and taking her out to dance so gently. Her almost white blond hair matched excessively with the silky strands of the art teacher, her dark eyes matched green and she was only a few inches shorter than him, which made everything infinitely more beautiful. If she was honest with herself, Celine would admit that they were clearly one of the most beautiful couples she had ever met. Which was a shame, a pity, she concluded. It is not as if she, unruly curly hair, body without curves and an incomplete graduation could compete with a teacher infinitely more interesting than she. What exactly was she waiting for? That a much more experienced man that she could develop any attraction to a girl, practically a teenager, with half a completed resume and bland eyes? She whispered a guilty yes and took a big sip from her glass.

Celine Mitchell, very devastated by her special ability to always twist around the wrong things, pulled out her own cell phone while trying to get a car to go home and end her night with a bottle of red wine and a few pages of that book that was wrapping up to finish. Her fingers were still trying to hit the right address when the pearly light of the runway was blocked by the high shadow against them. Deep in her chest, just behind her ribs, she begged the heavens that he was the one she'd been waiting for an invitation for all night. The gods laughed at her when the same tall, youthful man, who had danced with Helena earlier in the evening, offered her hand. The girl ended up accepting, hiding her disappointment while being guided with a warm hand on her waist. John, she found, was welcoming and pliant on the dance floor. Supporting her smooth chin just above her head as she allowed herself to rest her cheek against her shoulder, he was hugging her and she was stretching her arms over the light fabric of her completely black jacket. She caught a glimpse of Alan and Emma smiling around their own world, and the depressing feeling slid down her throat like poison.

\- You should ask him for a dance too. - John whispered in her ear as she looked up to face him.

\- I don't want to disturb your moment with the wife. She replied wistfully.

\- Emma's husband is in Canada for work, he is a researcher. ”Her curly hair spread over the round glasses that perched on her young, pale face.“ In addition to being my best friend and best man at my brother's wedding. He added, almost laughing. Celine got hot from head to toe the moment she was caught in her own self-deprecating lying net. - And if you're still wondering, yes, Professor Rickman is completely single. -

"I wasn't," she lied, staring at the dark fabric of his shirt.

\- Of course you wasn't! ”It zoomed, he reminded her of Rosie. Sweet but sarcastic temperament and childish eyes, although very confident, - Look, their dance is over, dance with me again and then invite him, no one will refuse a dance by the most interesting woman in the room. -

\- I hope Helena doesn't hear you words. She replied, smiling as she leaned her forehead against the warm, silky fabric. John spun her around the room for another song, before thanking her with a gentle kiss on her hand and pulling Emma out of her comfortable seat. Celine stayed another second, balanced against her own heels before rising with an almost deadly dose of courage and walking with seemingly steady steps to the wall he was absently leaning against. Half of her shoulder stuck to the wall, his right hand deep in his pants pocket and a glass of red wine in the other, he was admiring the dance floor when she stopped beside her. Reliving each of the reasons for her to do that, it was just a dance, a friendly way of fraternizing. It's not like she's going to offer herself to his eyes and pin him to the head of his bed, which, on second thought, wasn't such a bad idea.

"Professor," he greeted the soft voice as he turned to her with deeply serious green eyes and an impatient face.

\- Is there a problem, Celine? ”She wondered if he was reading the nervousness on her face, the way her heart was pounding and her breathing was getting harder and harder.

"No, no problem," she replied, with a smile that encouraged sympathy, "I was wondering if you would like a dance." - She announced, despite her temperature, her voice still seemed perfectly fine - A dance with me. —All damn night, she didn't watch the almost indignant frown that crossed his dark brows as he studied it like a book, again, as if he were reading it from the inside out. Celine hid each of his secrets under layers and layers of thoughts, just in case your assumptions are true.

\- No, Miss Mitchell. I am not interested in dancing with you, to be honest I am wondering what led you to consider this absurd idea. "A cup fell to the floor, it was the first thing she managed to register, the moment the words fell into the oxygen in front of her. Each syllable, one word. Suddenly, all the alcohol that had been deliberately consumed during the night, turned into an uncomfortable weight behind her eyes and pressed her brain to the point of damage. Celine lost her breath, once again, close to that man, but this time it wasn't for the same reason. Her belly twisted painfully as she tried to find her voice and blood flowed away from her face.

"I..." the history teacher seemed almost concerned when his voice broke like sparkling glass, "I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry." She repeated, walking as quickly as possible away from the dance hall. Away from deserted tables. Away from intimate lighting. Away from port. Away from the damn restaurant. Away from that man's cold words. Celine wobbled on her heels before she managed to reach the curb, her lungs felt full of water and she practically blew her buttons to get a breath, sitting on the hot sidewalk while trying to start the car app on her phone. When a big warm hand wrapped around her shoulder, she almost cried, but she was too busy trying to dial her address correctly until two hands were pressed around her face and forced her to look up.

\- Hello, - the yellow light from the pole that illuminated her curly hair made him slightly older now, round eyes and a gentle smile when he took his phone and helped her up carefully. - Give me your shoes, my mother always made me take your heels at the end of the party. -His tone was so warm that the girl felt like curling up on him and never letting him stop talking. - Come on, I'll give you a ride. These application cars are not to be trusted. - He explained, holding his heels by the white belt and offering his arm, Celine did not hesitate to hold on to the comfortable fabric.


	2. Second verse

The winds blow the sweet May buds,

And the summer is over before we can start it:

\- William Shakespeare

Whenever Mitchell reflected on those early days, she could almost laugh at how easily it was written in screaming letters on her skin. Marked as tattoo. The man was made of gray glass, covered with cracks deep enough that if she reached out and touched, she would cut the flesh off her finger in a dull burn. She should have seen it, she thought. She should have noticed at first the cracked shape that her smile broke her lips, almost as if her skin was cut, sliced and not sweetly framed. She should have heard the voice made of thorns, constantly scratching her pale throat as her vocal cords trembled under the temperature. She should have noticed the glassy gleam in his green eyes, the imperceptible tremor that always crossed his pupils, almost drumming under his heavy eyelids. She should have known, it was just as frighteningly exposed in her face, as big as a colorful poster. Perhaps, she secretly confessed, Celine realized.

Underneath the dirty layers of fear, she knew that her eyes had caught the black blood dripping from her snow-white epidermis, she took the scab from the wound the moment he raised his eyebrow. And that was probably what made her so easily condescending before her eyes, even when everything seemed like a retaliatory path. So when Celine received a response from the rectory for her curriculum application for a part-time job on campus, she knew exactly what she was getting into when she detailed her knowledge of archival and documentary organization. Lying to herself, she specified that she had no teacher in mind and would readily accept to work with any department at the institution. It didn't have to be anything close to a genius to deduce that the arts department, having the university's largest faculty, would have sent her a response requesting a meeting to see if she was qualified for the vacancy.

Celine tried not to be disappointed, it's not like she could just hope that a different man had answered her email and summoned her. It wasn't as if Celine was a masochist, not entirely, at least. But there was that growing feeling pressing into her chest as she reflected and reflected on the behavior of the art history teacher, what could she have done to whet her fury with just a few words? When her temper had been overly pleasant throughout dinner, questioning her references and offering her personal opinion on each one. How could he go from an attentive and intelligent man to a completely unscrupulous scoundrel on the other?

"Miss Mitchell? " Her belly ached and her eyes took more than a few minutes to fix on the soft voice she was calling, the red-haired woman was smiling with only part of her body exposed outside the elegant dark wooden door, the director awaits her . Okay, she was here for an interview. She remembered, running her nervous hands over the black silk blouse that wrapped around her back and baggy jeans with a worn hem.

"Right, thank you." She managed to say, when she found her own voice and walked into the administrative office. Once inside, there was another door, a simple table and two velvety chairs.

"Please, the room is after the door." Secretly, Celine felt ridiculous at having to hear her say that before she started to move. The second door was just as heavy as the first, she touched the handle for a second before with an uncomfortable knock, she entered the office. The warm waves that escaped the heater did nothing at all for the exorbitant amount of cold that was clinging under her shirt, inside her stomach and blurring her brain purpose. Two rectangular windows illuminated the room in worship, in addition to a long bookcase with beautiful copies of thick books and the wooden table with rustic sides, Celine believed that once touched, there would be splinters in her indicator until the end of the semester. 

" Miss Michell, do you intend to just freeze in front of my door or should I get you a snack to complete your entertainment?" It only lasted a minute, she could say, just a minute for her voice to crawl to her ear and stay there long enough until her head spun and her stomach complained about the lack of lunch. She murmured a simple apology and sat on the chair with blackish padding, positioning her purse on her lap while trying futilely, not to get lost in her evident eyes. "Contrary to what you assume, Miss Mitchell, I don't own the whole day to conduct your interview. So let me shorten this as much as I can, Professor Helena sent her application to my personal email because she believes that our schedules fit together efficiently and once I saw them, I don't disagree. ” The suit on her shoulders felt more stretched, as if he somehow was far more tense than he should be, muscles pulling and pulling back and forth in search of some emotional relief. When Rosie had that kind of problem, she usually offered to give her a relaxing massage before class and buy her some chamomile tea, she denied that the strict teacher in front of him was going to accept any of her relaxing offers. 

"I assumed the position of director of the department, I did not find a suitable assistant for my needs, but now I believe that this has become inevitable. I need someone who is free part-time on a weekly basis, who is independent enough not to bore me with superfluous questions and who has some knowledge of technology. The vacancy covers my needs as a teacher, not as a principal, but I fear that both cannot be dissociated. I have been without an assistant too long and this has only accumulated this demand."

"What would be the demands, sir?" The man looked at her behind the thin glasses with disgust, eventually that would also be explained, but she was anxious and nervous enough that she couldn't wait.

"I am not familiar with technology and therefore all my class diaries are handmade, I need someone to archive all this and destroy the physical diaries. I need an inventory of all my academic books, an acceptable organization for meetings with my mentees, and an extra pair of hands to collect and distribute class work and exams." His green eyes tested hers, just to try to find one. smooth thread of your disinterest. There was not. He continued "At least once a week, stay in my office and accommodate students' demands, indicating my professional email or professional phone number, if that is the case. The salary remains the same as that of my ex-assistant, eight hundred and fifty pounds, but if you have any objections this can be discussed." 

"The salary is good, I don't object to that." Celine offered a soft smile on her lips when she noticed that she would be getting a hundred and fifty pounds more than in her previous job.

"Great. Point out your doubts, Miss Mitchell, I can hear your brain spinning and I don't appreciate the noise." The letter student blinked so quickly that she could have made her eyes pop out of her sockets like broken glass, peeling off her iris and crawling on the floor like an animal.

"Could I use my own computer?" To be honest, it wasn't like your notebook was the most advanced device in the technological world, but it was much more about comfort than efficiency. She wasn't going to have minor heart attacks every time she touched something that threatened her superior's device's longevity, if it were to do that, it was preferable to injure her own device.

"As long as my students' privacy is not threatened, I don't see any problem with that." Her hands were crossed on the table, on top of a blue-and-jeans folder and close enough to a lovely fountain pen, it could look adorable if it weren't damn sexy. Long slender fingers, short nails and clear phalanx. He looked like one of those men who was old enough to learn to take care of his own skin as a way of preserving his appearance. "Does you silence indicate that your doubts have ceased, Miss Mitchell? Or do you have some ridiculous kind of non-verbal communication and are you testing it right now? If we are going to work together, you must understand that I have no power to read your mind."

"Actually, I was trying to think of any other questions, professor." She pointed out, suddenly annoyed by her unfriendly behavior. She wasn't asking to dance, again, after all. "But I won't be able to think of anything else when you look so nice." If he absorbed his painfully direct irony, his face didn't show once, his eyes remained in the same torturous shade of light green and his lips pressed together. Her smart eyebrow went up once and she took that as an answer.

"So, if you don't have any more notes, give me your answer." For a minute Celine realized that this was an interview, the man in front of her was offering a job and she should inform whether or not she accepted her position. For all those minutes she was stuck with the prospect that it was about him, that somehow he would get to the end of those hellish prayers communicating his decision to her and not her. Her brain must have screamed because the man in front of her narrowed her eyes patiently while curving her lips disappointingly.

"It looks good to me, professor." Celine announced, more softly than she wished.

"Okay, here are my phone numbers and a copy of the keys to that office. I believe you know my office together with your advisor, but I spend most of my days here and now you will too. Tomorrow I will leave a list with my advisee's emails, along with my weekly schedule, so you can organize the meetings and confirm with them." They at least had made the deal official and she was already dizzy with how easily orders left her mouth. "Kristen will collect her signature on the contract on departure. Be here on time at seven o'clock, I don't like delays." Mitchell took exactly two minutes to register that that was her way of saying that she had also passed the selection process for him, the girl picked up her leather postman bag and turned in her sneakers to leave the cold room. Kristen, unlike her current boss, was sweet and affectionate while showing where everything was on the wooden table and the exact six drawers that she would have to lay out some crazy organization, as well as informing that as an assistant she had unlimited access to the machine. coffee in the teachers' room and also the electric kettle. Kristen warned that the man was even worse in the morning and that he would absolutely become a wizard if she was late. Celine was advised to call the office phone if any setbacks interfered with her arrival and to never use her personal phone at all, unless it was, in fact, a tragic incident. Finally, she signed at least a dozen papers and provided her bank details for making monthly payments and left the room with a long, loving thanks.

The next day, it was six fifty-five when Celine Mitchell put her feet gently tucked into her best pair of white shoes inside the empty office. The room was more empty than the day before, she noticed at first, but it made sense. Kristen had confessed to her that she would return to her former role as assistant to the rectory, and that she had been changed only until Professor Alan found someone to meet her needs. The table, which twenty-four hours earlier was a cheerful mess of family portraits, a pink paper holder and pink metallic accessories, was empty. Completely and devastatingly empty, as well as the small side shelf and the exact six automatic drawers. Everything was empty, Celine felt a little melancholy. She hadn't thought about it, that the place probably looked cheerful and comfortable because someone had invested time in giving some soul to the cold walls. The girl hadn't brought her up to talk about herself other than the usual mess she always carried with her, but she could make a list and do something about it later. She sat against the office chair comfortably, at least her spine would have some comfort now. Her large glass of green tea was left on the incredibly empty table while she pulled her own computer out of the bag and plugged it into the local network and the nearest outlet, there was an extensive pad of paper in the first drawer and she took out her black children's case with colorful glitter and scribbled what should be a list of things for your table. If Kristen managed to transform that haunted thing into something harmonic, she could too, her research was quickly directed to a generic website that informed the accessory principles for composing an office table. It was exactly seven o'clock when the door swung open and a very tall man crossed the entrance mat, Celine made a mental note to change that too, but her attention was lost when her eyes went straight to the limpid face and reading of the man tucked smoothly in black tailoring pants and the long navy blue overcoat partially hiding his implacable torso. His blond hair looked even whiter when it was wet and his glasses were in place, the leather bag on his shoulder made him younger and the haunted trail of his thin beard was gone. Celine found herself wondering how someone could look so good at seven in the morning while she was still trying to stay decently awake in her white sweatshirt.

"Good morning, Miss Mitchell. I see that delays will not be a problem." It was the first thing he announced, taking off his thick overcoat and hanging it in his own room before returning now only in his beautiful millimeter-sized, disturbingly impeccable shirt. By this time, she had already noticed her unhealthy concern about her own clothes, controlling people like to exercise control over even the smallest details, she also recorded.

"Good morning professor." She replied, closing that ridiculous tab with an even more ridiculous list of items for her table.

"Here is the list of my students and their email, my availability is a little tight this week, but I stressed the students who need me most urgently. I would like an answer as soon as possible." Her little handwritten paper was placed on her very empty table, it was starting to bother her, she was not a fan of empty things.

"Certainly, professor." Celine noticed that her letters were small and elegant, but had uncertain features and her vowels were completely negligible. I was thinking of shopping, is it a problem? The man raised a suggestive eyebrow and crossed his arms protectively in front of the list of delicate buttons on the silk shirt.

"Shopping?"

"Decoration, the table is a little empty now that Kristen is gone and I'm not a big fan of empty stuff." Justified, his eyes dangerously attentive to the details of her clean-shaven face. "It seems a little cold all that space with bare walls and an empty table."

"Miss Mitchell, what you do with your space will not interfere with my work, feel free to change what you want, it's your space now - He commented, pulling a checkbook out of his obviously very nice wallet and very black. "However, I insist that you do not try to paint these walls in very flashy colors or students can report me for visual torture." When Kristen informed her of her morning moodiness, Celine expected cold orders and a distant voice and not a man with some distorted sense of humor. “I believe that figure will cover, but if not, you can inform me later."

"I wasn't asking for your money, professor. I believe I have enough money for some decoration." She insisted, even though she was very tempted to experience the sudden desire to at least once in her life, see a man give her a check without waiting for something sexual in return.

"This is not a favor, Miss Mitchell, and I'm not going to discount it from your bag either." The office is mine and you are my employee, anything that is bought must leave my account. Okay, there was the stone mood. She regretted having commented on that matter in the first place, but she kept the small check in one of the drawers and fought the urge to tear it up the moment the man was out of sight.

To Celine's happiness, her new employer was very happy to let her do her job silently and without interruption, and the student certainly had that strange twist by the sharp taste of quality silence. In addition to the usual buzz of students entering and leaving classes, there was not much else that could be interpreted as an uncomfortable noise and she was very happy to slide her fingers through the familiar keys on her own computer. At hours they went off by the clock and twenty minutes before her lunch hour was reached, she had already confirmed two times for the more advanced students and was patiently awaiting the response of the rest. She took enough time to collect her things, check her own classes for the day and finish her now cold and tasteless tea, before marching carefully to the back of the office and knocking softly on the door. After a soft touch between her, he stretched out against the open door and blinked with dark eyes before receiving an indecipherable look from the man behind the rectangular table. "Two of your advisers agreed to meet on Wednesday after their meeting with the pre-rectory, Luisa and Dean. I'm waiting for the response from the rest, but I'm leaving for lunch now. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, Miss Mitchell." He replied, turning his eyes to the extensive pile of documents he was punctuating. Celine closed the door gently as she closed her computer, collected that list of supplies for her desk and the damn unbearable check before going through the main door and walking through the empty hall.

In the department store, Celine found that there was so much that she would like to put on her desk and little table for her crazy desires for stationery to be met. She had an hour and a half lunch and had been trying to find a stapler for twenty minutes to match the dark shade that had chosen her pencil holder. In the end, she took a dark brown with shades of white. She also bought a drawer organizer, as well as ten differently colored folders, a large bulletin board and more post it's that she could rationally use. Not useful, she took that beautiful vase of flowers in an almost transparent shade of white that would match the dark walls, a decent black rug, a rustic wooden lamp and that lovely wooden cup holder. When she finalized the purchase, using less than half of the check money, Celine had only thirty minutes to go back to the university, buy flowers and eat something. Even a taxi would take at least twenty minutes before it stopped. Her stomach complained, but she got herself a steaming glass of hot tea and promised herself an abundant dinner. In return, she stopped at a lovely flower shop to buy a large bouquet of daisies and jasmines before taking her taxi. Back in the office, her excitement pulsed in her chest and the bags were quickly rummaged.

The feeling of removing that horrid smelly carpet was more refreshing than the natural, she noted, before running to the ladies' room and filling her lovely vase halfway, spreading her beautiful flowers among themselves and forming a fragrant bouquet with white flowers and some violet buds. She took advantage of the two small nails already on the wall to try to hang the painting, quickly her action was frustrated when her height did not reach that part, pulling a waiting chair close to the table and climbing on it as quietly as she could, Celine hung the painting. Stirring a few more times before going down, she sips her milk tea and realizes that her right side is higher than her left. She went up again, trying to find the ideal position before returning to her table.

"Miss Mitchell, I genuinely hope there is a plausible reason why you are using a stair chair as a stubborn child." The student didn't have time to register the door opening before the disturbingly deep voice flooded her senses and her body almost lost its balance. Her legs shook for just a second before she stepped away from the painting and faced her boss, on the firm floor, this time.

"The picture was crooked, I was trying to fix it." She justified, even if that wasn't an argument for her, an adult, climbing on a very expensive chair with her dirty shoes.

"I see, but I'm not interested in taking you to the hospital with one or more broken bones on your first day of work." He had a paper bag in his hands, and he was rubbing that bag smelling like bread and shredded chicken that made his stomach spin and complain. "Tell me when it's correct." He informed, pulling out his chair and running his hands over sides of the billboard askew. The teacher pushed the frame to the right.

"Just a little more to the left now." She commented attentively. "It's perfect now, sir. Thanks." Alan dropped the board and pulled the paper bag from his hands, taking a good look at the board, now perfectly nailed to the cold wall.

"When you go to my personal collection, choose a frame for the other wall." The man added, after resting his eyes on the flower pot very delicately adorning the empty table and its fragrant flowers.

"Okay, sorry about the chair."

"The janitor in the department has a ladder, use it." He informed, entering his room.

After carefully organizing her desk, now no longer so coldly empty, Celine was feeling more comfortable sitting on the padded chair. She organized the bulletin board with small post it's in pastel colors, then named each folder with the classes that Alan had at that time and replied to the students' emails about the meeting. Before five in the afternoon her stomach was hurting and all the students had been engaged in meetings with their advisor, she wrote it all down neatly on white paper, very aware that just sending it to her boss would not please her old and distant technology soul . Celine joined her change of purchases with the paper list before hitting her office and leaving both on her desk. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He looked at her for a second, under the clear glasses as he scanned the list of meetings with a hawk nose.

"No, Miss Mitchell. You are excused." She waved quickly, picking up the rest of her gifts and her notebook before leaving the room with an affectionate look at her impeccably decorated dark tones and smelling of jasmine.

Establishing a routine is almost as mysterious as falling asleep, being hit by a scent once known, and meeting someone from your past on the street. It is the dangerous sensation of the habit seeping into your bloodstream and staying there long enough for you to begin to forget that there is a sensation other than that bitter pain in your system. It is the soft sound of rain in the middle of your sleep, the enigmatic drumming of drops falling against your window in the middle of a storm and I can no longer remember the dry, sharp sound of silence. It's sliding under warm, comfortable fabrics and having your body erase possible memories of the cold. The routine, once established, is an addictive drug capable of enslaving. Celine didn't realize what was happening, until it happened. And it happened on a rainy Thursday. The clock was striking six-fifty when she slipped into the empty office with a steaming mug of tea with fresh milk, took off her heavy dark coat and hung it on the side hanger before sitting down in her chair and turning on the computer slowly. Her head was aching and she had a damn hard linguistic test in the first class, if Celine was quick enough she could file the first part of the book from the past period and could use the remaining two hours to review her content purpose. When the clock absent-mindedly clocked seven o'clock she let her eyes fall automatically against the door, when the art history teacher crossed the black carpet embraced by the moss green overcoat and with a cup of hot coffee she turned back to her computer, when he got rid of the cold robe and ran a hand through his blond hair before stopping at his desk, she knew.

"Good morning, Miss Mitchell. You will have to move that meeting with the student council to tomorrow after three, there is an emergency meeting with the teaching staff today that I cannot miss." He pointed, eyes on his dead flowers.

"Is three and a half a good time?" She asked, flipping through her hardcover diary.

"Yes." 

"I'll call Élise and confirm before lunch." He replied, before pulling out the dark drawer and removing the blue folder with a small white label streaked with a "history of art class two ”, with a black pen and handing it over. "Two students missed yesterday, I sent an email with the date and subject of the second call but I still haven't received your answers." He did not answer while pulling the cover and examining the first evidence gathered. "Emma asked to remind you of your commitment tonight and also sent me, specifically, to communicate that she is not taking no for an answer." 

"She never is." Rickman murmured impatiently.

"That's all I have. Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked, swallowing a long sip of his sweet tea.

"You are excused after lunch, Miss Mitchell." He informed, after a long minute staring at her, she no longer felt like a child being struck by her parents, she noted- I am aware of your test schedule, since you made a point of catching it on my wall quite vigorously. "Use your afternoon to study."

"I was planning to stay and study here, professor." She commented at last.

" Use my office, it is more comfortable." She raised a subtle eyebrow and registered his uncertain look.

" I appreciate your suggestion, professor. But I no longer have the keys to that office." The man stared at her for a moment before rummaging in his pants and pulling out a bunch of loud keys.

"Use my key." And he went back to his office. "Very suddenly, almost as if she were falling asleep, Celine realized. She was not surprised, she was not merely surprised. She had stopped looking surprised about her actions in the first month and they were in the sixth. A squeaky pressure froze his throat for no less than a minute before his head weighed in on the almost strategically unfolded way that the man acted, sneaking into that piece of situation like a snake, soft and peaceful time against the floor time, swinging your boat with sharp fangs.

Alan Rickman could be an inevitably sweet boss when he wanted to, she noticed, right the first week. The man would have casually left a package with those blueberry muffins that she adored so much, and he obviously wouldn't say anything about it, even if she thanked him, he would look into her eyes deeply and repeat in words so slow that Celine would question her own sanity. Get back to work, Miss Mitchell. —Or when she left a small bowl of homemade cake she had made last night, he would wrap his long fingers around the clean and properly washed container the next morning and say nothing but a cordial greeting. The man also had that strangely subtle twist of replenishing his flower pot, seven or eight days later, when his petals were too sensitive to touch and his appearance was closer to death than to life. Celine would return to her table the next day with a new bouquet of nostalgic and fragrant flowers, she always felt much more special about it than she probably should have, but it was out of her reach not to be extremely sensitive about absolutely everything involving the disrespectfully mysterious golden that he carried inside the suit. Celine learned, in the worst possible way, that he could also be cruel when she wanted to. On those days he would at least look her in the eye when he listed orders like a goddamn madman and if he did, the green in her eyes would be frozen like ice. On days like this, the art history teacher was distant, even more distant, he would not make noisy comments about the proofs he was correcting and he would not bring her sweet desserts either, he would not replace her flowers and left her so alone that Celine would he would ask if he was still a human being worthy of communication. In her second month, Celine spent two weeks without hearing anything, absolutely nothing. The director preferred to give his orders via email, and she felt like a child, denied any reasonably human contact when it was exactly what would make her feel like someone. Such behavior did not apply directly to his students, she also noted, he did not ignore his students, he pressed them to the point of pain and insulted her intelligence, but still, the least enough to be human, he could be with them. Celine wrote a letter of resignation and took it with her every day for those weeks, but the following Monday he returned with a new bouquet of yellow roses and everything returned to its axes.

Your bad behavior would still be there, at least once a month. Strong and hard enough to make your stomach sick. But she was used to it now, Celine didn't get in her way and ignored her contagious bad mood, she would remain reserved at her organized table and ignore the man who paid her salary as much as she could, hoping quietly that it wouldn't last as long as the last one. turn. And there was that trembling little bridge, a fair trail of fabrics cut out of everything she could tear, that unsafe path that any wind could shatter, that part of her skin that tingled when the rain fell and the sad tone echoing inside her. chest. Celine had gladly grown accustomed to being beside her. To give him space when she knew he needed it like his flowers needed water. To give him a smile that meant absolutely nothing but free comfort when he looked melancholy. Spending half the night she researching better cake recipes just to catch that almost sneaky smile, curling her thin lips in silent thanks. She had done that, of all things, because they were things she wanted to do for herself. She wanted someone to read between her lines as she was reading his, she wanted to give what she didn't have, because that was her own way of self-comfort.

Honestly, there wasn't much to explain that protective twist in her chest, it wasn't like the man twice her age was someone insecure and fragile like her. Alan certainly did not keep his demons properly balanced in his head, organized in chronological order as he opened, day after day, a glimpse of that overarching storm. That was Celine, Celine and her sloppy traumas and the migraine hammering behind her head whenever she thought about her childhood and the deep scars on the lower part of her spine, inside her back and drawing a deep list on the lower part of her neck. That was Celine and her poorly maintained sleep, her insistent night terrors and her completely unwillingness to take care of herself as she should. That was Celine, falling asleep on the spacious, aromatic couch instead of studying for her linguistics exam.

A book hit the floor, the hardcover hammering the dark floor like a huge concrete stone hitting a piece of broken glass and shattering against the smooth surface. She stood up in a blind impulse of self-preservation, blinking dark eyes at the room half-lit by the orange light that came through the colored window. A swearing penetrated his ears, and his eyes quickly captured the slender figure trapped on the woody steps of the ladder on the shelves, the dark suit flexed his thighs when he stepped down carefully and Celine sat back on the couch, her heart still scared.

"I'm sorry, professor. I wasn't planning on falling asleep, but I didn't have a good night." She explained, nervously opening his linguistics books and searching in vain for his concentration.

"It was not my intention to wake up, Miss Mitchell. The copy fell from my hands." His voice was still the same, as if the ripples of his emotions could not sink when it should inside his vocal cords.

"It was time to wake up, I need to study. She whispered uncertainly, "is there anything I can do for you?" When his green eyes met her dark ones, her face was perfectly in place, not a piece of skin missing and not an inch of her existence absent. Still, it could be made of dust and blown away.

"There is." He completed, placing his books properly on the wooden counter by the door before returning to the large cupboard at the end of his office. When his footsteps came close to the sofa, the art history professor had a fluffy, fluffy square of white blanket. "Lie down, Miss Mitchell." The tone of her voice left no room for protest when she shrank her feet covered by the old pair of black socks into the sofa, curious eyes as the man lifted his face scanned her face. Celine believed that there was a lot to observe about her now, the impossible hair, the sleepy eyes and the dry mouth. Quite a spectacle, she joked. "I must warn you that there is no chance of doing well in a test being as tired as you are now, your brain will not register any new information when all it needs is rest." 

"Thanks." She murmured, sliding into sleep as if she slipped deeper into a frozen lake. The sheet was handed to her carefully, and Celine unrolled it while covering herself up to her shoulders and closing her eyes willingly.

"Lock the door when you leave." The professor commented, but Celine didn't hear her footsteps, the books being captured or the doorknob being turned. She heard nothing at all after her aching limbs were under that warm blanket and smelled of fresh tea, she only heard the soft snoring of her own chest in her ear as she lost herself in her own consciousness.

Celine did the stupidly tiring linguistics test with a comfortable itch on the back of her awake eyes and smelling of tea all night. She didn't take off her clothes before going to bed that night, she couldn't forgive herself if she let that smell slip away from her so furtively. Her sleep beat her up with a quick slap, all dark, hot and warm and comfortable.

She dreamed of a green field, a cup of tea adorned with daisies and a cheeky kiss just behind her ear. A pair of lips running down her neck, her shoulder, the back of her neck, crawling against her arm, up to her jaw, biting her chin and licking her earlobe. She only realized she was naked against a fabric surface when he scraped his spine, and then his lip was in his mouth and his tongue licking so deep into his mouth that he could collect his secrets and his body was on fire and he was so deep inside you that was like a part of it. When the fire swept over her body and she opened her eyes, two green stones were glued to her and she collapsed.


	3. third verse

Sometimes the sun casts its warm rays,

Or hide the golden face in the fog;

\- Wiliam Shakespeare

Going out with Emma had become a thing, I mean, it wasn't necessarily a thing, a closed appointment and an obligation. It was more like a sweet, light thing that shadowed her life every Saturday, at first it was strange, she reminded herself of the uncomfortable feeling of trying to decline her ad and fail dramatically while the woman did her best imitation of looking greedy and argued carefully . On the first Saturday John picked her up at her house around seven at night and the bar was a little far from her apartment, the facade with red lamps and a questionable LED but the interior was warm and pleasant and did not smell of urine. There were round and square tables, chairs near the bar and pool tables scattered in the center and, of course, a machine for choosing music. Celine met Ethan that night, the man was so tall that his neck reminded her of walking across campus with Rosie in pursuit, with big, scary blue eyes like the sea and a smile so wide it should hurt his jaw. He hugged Celine so hard that his chest ached for a second, but the pain was forgotten when he mumbled how happy he was to finally meet the golden girl Emma was living his hell days on and if the heat painted his cheeks, he was polite too much to score. People always changed, she noticed, on the first Saturday it was just John drinking until he lost to Ethan again, Emma and her department friend, Erin, with a red braid behind her head, drinking and telling about each of the antics that her students got ready and Celine promising not to tell anyone that teachers also did that.

Eventually Daniel would also join them, some Saturdays yes and some no, always committed to wiping out the bar's beer stock under the elegant red mustache he thought was sexy and Emma lived to warn him that he wasn't very comfortable in sex. oral. The redhead always ended up telling her to mind her own business and swallowing a new glass full of beer before casting her visceral charm on any woman in the bar and leaving them with an unwavering smile. John took an escort once too, a boyfriend, he seemed to be a boyfriend, for the dedicated way he tried to look a little more restrained and the sharp color of desire that crossed his face when the blond man licked his drink-stained lips, looked very certainly a boyfriend when they left the bar hand in hand and Emma blinked very indirectly over her nearly finished portion of chips. Alan himself joined the group a few times, every other month, when he was there John became more protective than ever around Celine and she was almost always in the same glass of drink all night. When Alan was there she did not allow herself to participate in her conversation with Emma, or interact with her surroundings as casual as she did around everything else, she was always stuck with the painful image of her hasty refusal to do harmless dancing, she was always expecting him to jump out of his chair and throw a cruel comment at her. John knew, he could practically read the defensive waves that left his body like an expensive perfume. But Emma was another story, Emma made a point of always bringing Celine into the conversation and always looking interested in what she was talking about and smiling at Celine like the damn sweet creature she was. Ethan loved Alan, he was remarkable, the way his smile always grew when the man walked through the loud bar door and always offered a greeting. Ethan spread his arms as if he could fly and slapped the professor repeatedly on the back with a painfully cheerful smile, they had a good friendship, running around the pool table on some stupid bet or teasing each other with tapes in the music box, eventually Ethan would talk about Alan's choice to drink wine and of course, Alan would beat him again at the pool table. It wasn't as if the man with blond, almost white hair, ignored her on those nights, he didn't. He was cordial and careful, rising from the table and questioning whether she would like a new drink and Celine would gently thank but deny it. He would buy those two huge portions of fish and chips and push one for Emma and Ethan, and send the other to Celine without even giving her a second look and when his fingers brushed around a snack he would withdraw his hand and she would always stay with the final piece. He always listened to her comments and laughed at her poorly made little jokes about her and he absolutely never left her talking to herself, yet there was that wall of transparent ice between them. Celine would never risk taking the lead in whatever situation, she could never ask if he would like another drink or push a plate of fries for them to silently share, she never offered a game of pool or a dance, she couldn't, no after that. But Alan was warm and quietly quiet around her, pulling Emma into a dance, pulling John's shoulders for a new game of pool and paying everyone a round when he rubbed his victory over the men at the table. He followed Emma when she made jokes about Daniel's mustache, but he absolutely never flirted with anyone.

Which did not mean that other people did not flirt with him. Celine knew, she couldn't just walk past him when he was here, so close that she could be touched and yet she would never extend her fingers. He was a very conscious shadow inside her head, a ghost that she didn't necessarily need to be seeing to contemplate her presence. The first time it was a blonde woman, big blond waves running over her short black dress, revealing her thick thighs and small tattoo on the skin before her knee. Celine loved tattoos, she had them secretly stored in parts of her body that she couldn't show, suddenly she felt the urge to get a tattoo where she would be exposed to all eyes, it meant courage. The blonde woman was brave enough not to care about anyone's opinion and that was why she had drawn that red tiger surrounding her prominent thigh. The professor was engaged in a conversation with Ethan about one of his researches when one of the waiters placed a new glass of wine in front of him, a note nailed to the end.

"I hope your taste in wine is as refined as your taste for other things." The handwriting was small and drawn, Celine thought she might be sick, but her stomach was flawless and that was just the way her body announced her feelings. Ethan burst into excitement and Emma gave Celine an opaque look, before smiling softly at Alan, who searched the room with curious eyes. The woman in the black dress was sitting on one of the bar stools, legs crossed and sensual tattoo, raising her own drink before smiling.

"You should go there and say thanks" Ethan commented, raising his eyebrow maliciously. "Come on, don't be rude." The professor tucked the little note in the inside pocket of his pants, his dress shirt seemed to make him more casual without the heavy suit on top, his arms flexed as he got up from the chair and walked towards the bar, the glass shining in your hands. "What is it? I was just trying to help."

"It's helping wrong, don't do it anymore." Emma whispered back, but when Celine managed to turn her eyes to her, the teacher almost trembled. "Just shut up and look around before doing anything else stupid." John held his hand after he noticed what was going on, he was involved in some new game of pool against a bearded and moody old man when the cup arrived.

Celine knew that the man was a very, very sensual creature. She knew exactly which muscle he would move and how attractive he would be when he did it, she had studied it like a map, hours watching him in meetings with the dean and hours sitting while he taught his classes, while she waited for him to sign some. thing or confirm something. Hours watching him play pool with Ethan, long hours watching him dance and talking to Emma so openly sincere and minutes, many minutes, when she could look at him when he looked at her. And now the man was moving like a damned predator, reaching for the bench beside the tattooed woman, leaning forward while his elbow was pressed against the bar and keeping his legs apart. The woman was even more receptive, Celine read her body expression, quickly fixing her posture and licking her lips, putting her hair out of her face so that he could see her better before smiling with all her white teeth and shiny mouth. Alan stayed beside her for an infinite amount of minutes, her hand even shaved her blond hair and when a waiter brought her a glass just like the one she was drinking, he got up and walked back to the table. Celine looked down at the almost untouched portion of potatoes she was eating, her appetite was gone, she swallowed the rest of her beer before getting up and collecting her denim jacket, placing it over her white shirt and pants.

"Are you going dear?" Emma asked when Alan sat down next to her.

"So early?" Ethan protested, reaching out to kiss her cheek.

"I have a job to finish, and I promised John that I would help him unpack things today." It wasn't a lie, they really agreed. But the deal was that they would fall too drunk on the man's new and expensive sofa and only have to fiddle with dusty boxes the next morning, John's hair swayed when he stood up and quickly pulled on his heavy coat before putting a soft arm through his. shoulders and smile.

"There are really many boxes, Emma."

"I'm sure they are, be careful." She saluted back, sending a kiss.

"Have a good night." Celine blew after kissing Emma's cheek and hugging Ethan, leaving the bar as fast as she could. She and John took a taxi, bought five bottles full of wine and stuffed themselves with pizza in the empty apartment. The man didn't whisper anything when she wiped her own unsubstantiated tears and he kissed her forehead when they fell asleep on his spacious sofa.

It happened again, just a month later. But now Ethan seemed to have developed the very punctual ability to shade Celine with his blue eyes whenever something like that unfolds, so when the elegantly dressed woman in a pencil skirt and a deadly smile reached them at the pool table, Ethan looked at her as if on fire. Like the bar is on fire. As if Celine was in great danger. Shame swept through her soul, warmed her skin and melted her clothes. The woman had an easy conversation, perhaps intelligent, Celine was not so close to know, she offered a game and the teacher accepted. They seemed to be involved in any kind of bet because Alan was really trying, with stiff shoulders and focused eyes. Ethan and John were torn between their own game and facing Celine with each unlikely couple's new shot, while Rickman and the woman, who had proven themselves very good at snooker, were oblivious to their own conversation.

"Stop looking at me like I'm being stabbed." Mitchell whispered, swallowing his beer.

"But that's exactly what you look like, dear, as if you're being stabbed." Her eyes looked almost sad when she said that, her icy palm curling Celine's hand on the table. "It would be so much easier if you had an answer, and not killing yourself with doubt." 

"Do you think I have doubts?" The laugh that left your throat could have torn your skin and bled. "Believe me, I have the answer." She added, staring at the distorted bottom of her glass.

"Because of the dance?" Emma didn't return his careful look. "I was dancing with John dear, did you hope I didn't see the whole scene when it was right before my eyes?"

"So you know exactly why it is not a doubt."

"I just know that he is a much, much, more complicated man than any of us and you won't have an answer if you don't ask." Celine stared at the pool table, the balls hitting, the happy sigh the woman released when she pocketed one more, Alan didn't look peculiarly sad at her disadvantage.

"I'm not that masochistic, you know." She joked, almost smiling.

"He lost his wife." Emma's voice sounded like a whisper "It was the most absurdly tragic thing that ever happened, I never watched anyone lose everything the way he did. Can you even imagine losing everything like that, everything you had, the only person you had?" Celine remained silent, so silently sore that she could scream. "I saw this man die with her for months, I saw him crawl into the coffin with her." They shouldn't be having this conversation, Celine meant that she didn't want to know, that she didn't care, that she didn't want to listen and glimpse the open wounds. "You should know, you have to know." 

"I know now." She murmured, swallowing her beer.

"Well, that's good." Things seemed to make sense now, the missing piece seemed to be there and when she faced the handsome man tucked in the silk button shirt, she felt her chest tingle as she slid her eyes through the wrinkles next to her eyes and I felt like touch with your fingers. Alan won the game, the woman was not so happy anymore, he bought her a new drink and returned to the table with a neutral face. Emma held her gaze for the rest of the night, while Celine tried to fit it all back into her head. She didn't leave early that night, she sat down and controlled her own mocking emotion before they all ended the night and she slipped out a greeting before holding John's hand out of the bar.

On Daniel's birthday everyone was at the bar. And Celine was already in her fourth glass of beer when the art teacher joined them at the table, usually sitting next to Emma and Ethan and whispering a cordial greeting as she took a glass of red wine. Daniel was more excited than ever, his mustache was an ugly memory and his face was duly clear and shiny with drink. Ethan dragged him over several games of pool, every time he lost, he needed to drink a shot of vodka and believe me, the man was lucky to still be able to walk on his own legs. If Celine had devoured that exorbitant amount of alcohol, she would have been too naked in the middle of the cozy tables, Daniel was all smiles and joy while trying to hit the balls. They sang softly congratulations when the cake Emma secretly ordered arrived and the redhead blew on the candle with beer breath. When Emma asked her what she was asking for that year, Celine was lost, she hadn't been there last year to understand that dynamic.

"A kiss." He whispered, calm as he forked a piece of his cake.

"From Emma again? Daniel, I'm starting to think that you have something." John hummed beside the man, his cheerful smile was bright and drunk.

"No, I already had my dose of that vixen last year. I want a kiss from the most beautiful woman in the bar. " He murmured maliciously.

"Oh." Emma's face lit up and she smiled softly. "And who's the lucky one?" 

"Confusion doesn't suit you." Alan murmured, over his drink and Celine took a punch when she noticed Emma's dark eyes on her.

"Oh no! I mean ... There are at least ten more beautiful women than me here, I can make a list if you want." Celine defended herself, trapped by anxious eyes.

"I'm sorry, love, it's a tradition." Ethan comforted her, carefully wrapping his lips around the cold beer bottle. "Daniel has a wish every year and we have to fulfill it. Last year he asked for a kiss from Emma, last year he asked to drive my Mercedes, he already asked John to walk just in his underwear down the main avenue." 

"Believe me, it was not pleasant." John intervened, flushed.

"Right. Daniel are you going to get your wish now or when you're too drunk to remember?" She asked, feeling suddenly bold. Emma's eyes widened and John choked on his drink.

"I don't want to forget any of that." The redhead argued, extending his hand.

"But I want a dance first, can we do that?" He argued, more self-conscious than he should. She didn't need to look up to contemplate the realization of the rest of the table.

"Everything you want."

Celine almost thanked the heavens that the music was calm and slow when he took her to the center of the bar, some couples were already wrapped in that mass of hug and kisses when he turned her in his arm and smiled against his forehead. He had arms tight around his waist, his fingers curved just above that strip of fabric in the long navy blue dress that fell to his feet with two thin straps and his bare neck. He stroked his bare back, his fingers ran over his shoulders and he was resonating like a kitten when she grabbed his jaw and dragged his lips over it. The red beard didn't bother as much as she thought it would, and his lips were soft against hers, and Daniel was much more delicate than he turned out to be. He didn't take the first impulse, so she needed to lick the seam from her lips and touch her tongue, so that he finally squeezed her in his arms and pushed her mouths even closer together. The redhead burned in his mouth, the taste of beer as he licked his tongue dizzily and sucked his lip, Celine felt that familiar itch growing in her stomach, she wondered if Alan was watching as she stuck her fingers in her red hair and pushed his chest on the birthday boy. He had asked her to kiss her as a gift, he called her the most beautiful woman in the bar, he deserved something. When she felt the hot, hard pressure of his pants against her thigh, she licked her bottom lip and pulled away with an almost deadly smile.

"God! Woman, you are really something." Daniel half whispered, half moaned.

"Happy Birthday." She smiled, returning to the table.

When she sat down in the comfortable chair, there was adrenaline in her blood and she felt like she could move the walls if she wanted to. Emma was looking at herself as if she were naked in her clothes and John was paralyzed, a loose smile on his face whenever he faced a very handsome man and Ethan remained silent for just a second before rising from the table with a thud. so loud it scared her.

"Bloody hell." The man swore, a laugh so genuine left his throat that the rest of the table could do nothing but follow." Now that's a wish, congratulations, big boy.

"I'll tell my grandchildren about it one day." Daniel argued, drinking his beer.

"Believe me, I'll tell your grandchildren that one day." Emma pointed out, smiling.

Celine withdrew feverishly to drink her beer and watch as they parted in gently embarrassing the redheaded birthday girl with soft eyes. Everyone except Alan, who was very still in his seat with stiff shoulders and a neutral countenance on his face as he watched the night unfold. When he caught her looking, his jugular moved and she had the slight impression that the skin on the shirt with some open buttons was slightly red, but he was looking at her as if they were in his office again and she felt tiny. A noise brought them out of that situation, Daniel had fallen out of his chair and dragged Ethan with him and they were curled up on the floor with embarrassed smiles and Celine was quickly overcome by a fun laugh. When she and John left the bar she finally noticed that Alan was gone, she wondered when he was gone.

The man's tall, thin body was wrapped in a silky robe when he sat beside her on the sofa, passing her a hot cup of mint tea as he put his feet on the coffee table. "It was quite a show. "

"I don't know what you're talking about." Celine did the favor of mocking innocently.

"Do you know exactly what I'm talking about, kissing Daniel like that? It was probably the hottest thing that happened in his life after the divorce, he is going to make his teenagers hell now. " The brown hair was dripping water on her bare shoulder and she was laughing.

"He doesn't kiss badly." She commented.

"It was not for him that you offered this kiss, I mean, you practically wrote his name in your kiss with all that dance story." Tea burned your tongue. "None of us managed not to look, but he was especially interested."

"Of course he was." Celine joked, closing her eyes softly. "You are seeing things where you don't have them." 

"I'm not, do you honestly take him for being such an idiot? You practically shouted revenge for the rejected dance in your face.” She tried to search her head over any sincere look he had given her, any glimpse of her true reaction, there was nothing. There was the neutral way her face always looked, made of marble.

"Did you meet his wife?" Mitchell finally asked, the words raining down on her mouth.

"We all know Lilian."

"Were you there when she ...?"

"When did she cut her wrists and drown in the bathtub? Yes, Emma was too nervous to start the funeral service." The floor rose against her throat and she didn't realize she was crying until a deep sigh left her lips. "Didn't you know?"

"Emma said she died in a terrible accident."

"It is a way of explaining, I mean, nobody expected her to have any psychological disorder. She was fun, she always drank more than all of us and was so kind." John straightened up on the couch and Celine wiped away her tears. "They obviously had problems, but nothing that was that bad. Alan practically adored her and she was always there looking at him with a smile, it was really beautiful."

"Was he different before?"

"No, he was never different. He was more alive with her, I think." The tea was bitter when she swallowed. "But when she died it was ... it was scary. He was more dead than she was at the funeral, he moved out of their house and sold everything. He disappeared for almost a year and Emma was desperate, we all thought he was going to end up like Lilian. But when he came back, he was just Alan again and yet ..." Silence engulfed the room. "He wasn't alive when he came back, he just isn't there anymore." Celine curled up on the couch, placing her icy feet on her lap covered in the curly man's silk robe. "He never talks about her, we learn to respect her space but sometimes it seems so unfair to pretend that she never existed." Her hands were cold when he squeezed his feet in an awkward massage. "Emma is still there, hoping that one day he will just wake up alive again. The rest of us have waited long enough." 

"I'm so sorry."

"I never said I loved her, she always said to all of us. She used to tell Alan whenever she got a little drunk. I never said." Celine tried not to think of the painful way his voice sounded, as if he were about to cry. She didn't want him to cry, she didn't want to cry either. "And now she's gone and took him with her."

John kissed her forehead carefully before going to her room and closing the door.

Celine dreamed of a bathtub full of blood and love being spoken around the dark shadow of alcohol and tears of blood and Emma shivering as the water choked her.

She woke up screaming.

The next Saturday she entered the reddish brown door with a small bell on the ceiling Celine was so frustrated that even her hair was tired, her teeth ached from touching her lips and she could very easily fall asleep on any minimally flat and comfortable surface. Her footsteps were steady until the small table always positioned in the same place while Ethan and his wife took their first large glasses of beer, and an elegant John was buying chips for the pool table. She made a great depressing sound as she sat on the wooden chair and laid her head on the square table.

"What happened, dear?" Emma questioned, touching her hand tenderly as she lifted her head and forced herself to look minimally healthier as her body collapsed without food. The week had wrapped its head in a force around the days, the period was ending and the students seemed desperate to contact the course director and their own teachers had forgotten that she had other chairs to deal with.

"The usual." She commented, cleaning the wrinkles of her black dress with narrow cut and long sleeves. "Helena making me do impossible things in impossible deadlines while I have to keep my balance between setting fire to my classroom and attending demands." She continued talking, Ethan's blue eyes were doubling in size and a smile was dropping from his pretty lips. "And then Principal Rickman seems to have only a bunch of students addicted to an existential crisis who make me run down the halls to fulfill their requests while I still have to reconcile their commitments as a teacher and as a director. Honestly, what's up with so many meetings of the pre-rectory? If they always talk about the same thing for which one meeting every damn seven days, I could use some free time on his damn schedule so that he could deal with those diabolical creatures he calls students." When a stocked glass of beer was placed in front of her by fingers long wrapped around the rim, a leather strap watch and a white dress shirt, Celine considered pushing her chair back and forging a faint.

"I am very happy to hear your complaints about the position, Miss Mitchell, but I would like to warn you that meetings with the rectory attend to different matters each week." And if Celine had been just a little more observant, if she had just been a little more cautious while sitting down looking for refuge, she would have noticed. The jacket stretched across the head of the chair beside her, Ethan and John wore no coats inside the bar. He was there all the time and there was Celine, chattering like an idiot. But it was too late, her cheeks almost melted from the heat when Ethan laughed so loudly that he could be heard across the street, Emma and John were laughing and Celine wanted to make a hole in the floor. Her impulse stretched until the moment she noticed her boss taking the seat on her right side with a prominent smile on her lips.

"Heavens!" She half commented half laughed. "I'm sorry, I feel like an idiot now." 

"Certainly you are not the first or the last to question these damn meetings, don't worry." He replied, swallowing his smooth wine in his usual glass. If she looked around, she could be sure that besides him, only one or two people would be drinking wine at a bar with pool tables and old wooden doors. But this was Alan Rickman and nothing about him could be less than fucking and sensually elegant.

"That was probably the funniest scene I've ever seen in my life," Ethan murmured, a hard hand reaching out to Celine to kiss her fingers with reference and the student pulled her offended arm.

"You're not really helping, you know." She commented indulgently.

"Come play then." Ethan didn't have to call a second time.

But there was something about that night, something citrus that was eating away at the tip of her tongue as she slid out of her chair in her minimally high sandals and her black dress that rolled up like a glove. Holding Ethan's hand as she was guided to one of the green cloth tables, she didn't know how to play much better than he did, but the university's long welcome parties definitely made her train a few things. So when she pocketed two balls with almost magical ease, and pure luck, of course, Ethan questioned her word and called her a liar under an amused smile. The bar was fuller than usual on that hot night and the human warmth was making Celine more confident, or maybe it was the blatant shame she had recently passed that had sparked the adrenaline in her blood and mixed with alcohol, everything was slightly more sexy. While John was leaning against the side table, dueling fervently with a silver-haired man, the two other teachers were sitting at the table staring as she and Ethan struggled to pocket more balls. It took Celine about a second to decide what to do, John's curly hair was turned towards him when she positioned the club perpendicularly against a striped ball and leaned her body against the table on it, her dress was not too short, but it was just enough to show that lower back of her thighs as she prepped and attacked. The ball landed perfectly in the hole and Emma was giving him a sly smile.

"I see what you're doing." Ethan whispered as he rubbed chalk on the end of his club. Celine swallowed a sip of her beer and blinked her disagreeable eyes. "He's an old man, he won't be handsome when his heart fails." And she was laughing, gently tilting her head back as she laughed. Ethan missed the shot and she cheered, walking around the table for a few seconds before finding a potential move. This time she took her time staring at the striped ball with an elegant six painted over it, raising her hands to tie her long hair in a disastrous bun, leaving her neck exposed to the damp heat that slid against her epidermis like dense fog. When she pushed her hands on the table and slid her butt over the edge, John almost choked on his drink, the end of the table could barely cover her ass as she pushed the cue toward the number six ball and tilted her spine slightly to the right. A whistle sounded loudly when the ball was pocketed and Celine came down from the table with a triumphant smile. She was a woman, after all. How much would it take to stir up a little desire in someone male? She has been very positively in relationships with women for most of her life and women are much more difficult to achieve with pure and latent desire. Men were easier to hit, she knew that, she just wondered if the art history teacher was like her other kind or there was more to be discovered in her human shell.

Inside his head, a voice continued to purr for him to bite that provocation. Ethan missed a new move and Celine won the game, the blue-eyed man kissed the top of her head before admitting defeat when she pocketed her last ball and shook her shoulders happily. When they walked back to the table, Celine with a triumphant smile and the researcher with a sweaty forehead, Emma was laughing out loud.

"That was pathetic." The teacher stated, kissing her lips.

"Don't kick a dead dog, she said she didn't have much experience with the game." His blue eyes were dramatic when he rolled his eyes and laid his head on his wife's shoulders.

"It doesn't take much more than that to make you lick the floor." Alan commented, eyes on his own drink.

"Really? So go there so she can kick your ass like she did mine." Ethan suggested, with a sly look.

"Are you willing to bet money on it?" The director argued, Celine ordered the waiter a new glass of beer while he finished his.

"Fifty pounds." The researcher's wallet was leatherette, dark green like snake skin, while his tanned fingers pulled out that clear fifties and pushed it across the table.

"Is it a gamble?" John asked, standing behind Celine with a raised eyebrow.

"Ethan is betting that Alan will lose to Celine on snooker." Emma replied, pulling out her own long, shiny wallet with silver sequins and a permanent pink zipper. The woman was pulling out two fifty-pound notes when the waiter handed Mitchell his own drink and picked up his empty glass. She has never been happier to hold a glass of cold beer before. "One hundred pounds on Celine."

"Alan, you don't really have a chance." John explained, covering the table with another crumpled one hundred pound note. The bar was still very hot when the student of letters pulled a note with the number one hundred on the table and waited patiently for the answer of the elegantly seated teacher, the man stared into his eyes for just a minute before removing five notes from his wallet and to cover the rest, Celine was blinking in fright when he got out of his chair and walked over to one of the empty pool tables. "I'm excited." John announced, pulling out his chair so that he could really face the pool table fully.

The teacher chose his own cue, moving the tip gently with his fingers while arranging the balls in the small wooden triangle before releasing and touching his hip against the side of the table. "Do you want to choose?" He asked, probing her face.

"I want the odd numbers." Celine replied as she left her own stick on the table and took a small sip of her beer, the icy liquid slid over her throat and appeased her nervousness.

" Have the first shot." Her blonde hair was slightly more messy now when he reached for the table with carefully arranged and numbered balls.

"Are you trying to give me an advantage, professor?" His tone was serious, but his countenance was amusing.

"I'm being a gentleman, Miss Mitchell." The student scanned her neutral face as she slid to the head of the table, she lined up her hard-pointed bat at the head of the lone ball at the tip of the pyramid and with a thud they were rolling across the green velvet table and spreading out. Her dress stretched when she leaned against the wooden edge and hit the white on the number two blue ball that spun and spun until it hit the lilac and was dropped in the pocket. When she got up, Celine was smiling. But Alan was meticulous, she noticed, running around the table several times while figuring out which move would be best for her. He was almost at his side when he attacked ball five and made it roll to ball eleven and both fell carefully into the hole on the left, the man stood up with his impeccable shirt while staring at his opponent with a sharp gleam in his green eyes. Celine had to collect all her self-control so she wouldn't stick to her neck right now and kiss her superb mouth in a crazy movement, instead she let her gaze fall on the table in search of what she wanted. Ball five was preventing ball seven in the right pocket, if she was lucky enough to balance the strength on her wrist she could hit it with the red ball three and still give her teacher a good view. She was very self-conscious of the man directly in front of her when she let her spine follow the path of the wooden stick, the fabric of her dress skyrocketing over her thighs as she let her breasts almost touch the table and lift her eyes from her target to face his superior, the man still looked the same, standing with his arms folded and his face soft in the yellow light, when Celine hit the ball she spun and pulled the number five out of the way while dropping the brown seven. The director went around the table one more time, skilled fingers rubbing the chalk on the end of the wooden cylinder and watching his eyes, he stopped so close that his arms were touching. Celine did not move, she would not leave her place just to open up an advantage for the other player, there was money at stake. But when her hot breath snaked at her neck as he measured the table with his eyes, she almost made room, her body lowered on the table but he missed boot twelve and she just turned to get stuck on the side.

"That was close." The girl scoffed, feeling suddenly confident.

"Miss Mitchell, didn't anyone tell you that fish die from their mouths?" He scolded, his moody eyebrow making him even more sensual while his voice seemed even deeper now so close. Celine slid her long lashes and walked to the left, she tried to pull the green ball close enough that she could kill, but her efforts proved futile. Her boss doubled the way up to her back and murmured slowly almost too close to her ear. "Really, that was close."

"I invite you to do better." Celine patched up, as she watched him choose his ball. He was concentrating his frown on ball thirteen, but it was half stacked next to ball ten in the right corner. Seeing her efforts, the brunette slid across the table until it landed strategically in the pocket on the right end, placing the wooden stick on the floor and balancing her chin on its end with a soft countenance. The professor stared at her for what must have been a few seconds, before she finally raised a ruthless eyebrow and positioned her shot, her wrist shook and the ball made a sharp noise as it slipped through the hole. He was smiling, openly, his lips were curled up in such a sensual tug that she faltered.

Celine was losing, in her damn game, she was miserably losing. And the man was smiling as he contemplated her defeat. The lyricist took a minute to breathe heavily and lifted her shoulders carefully, pulling a nervous hand in her hair and causing the dark strands to fall over her shoulders as she circled the table with predator eyes. There was a chance that the nine ball would cross the table diagonally and hit the hole, but if it moved just a little to the right it would drag the black ball and risk ending the game and admitting its defeat. Celine got rid of that thought, she picked up that wooden point on the left headboard, her teacher was right beside her when she sat on the wooden surface and offered him just a look when her bare knees touched the side of her thick pants with a leather belt, her hands did not shake when she positioned the wooden stick and hit as hard as she could, the nine ball whizzed before it fell into the hole.

"The pool table is not meant to be used that way, miss." The director commented, eyes on the pool balls scattered.

"Are you saying that I'm cheating, professor?" It was an innocent question, even a serious one, but the way his lips were hanging captured the attention of his green eyes momentarily.

"No, Miss Mitchell. You can sit in the middle of the table and I would still be able to win." He commented, setting his move across the table. The dynamic took place for a few more calculated strokes until the table was covered only by three carefully scattered balls, the man was a monster as he jumped from shot to shot with dark eyes and pressed lips, swallowing every chance that Celine could kill her. more skillful moves. There was only a yellowish ball in the left middle of the table, in contrast to two even balls slightly tilted together but very far from any pocket, among them, the damn black ball. The student only had one chance to kill those balls, together, before her teacher attacked her number one with full force and reduced her to that miserable defeat.

"Are you preparing for your surrender, Miss Mitchell?" ”The man teased, his body was radiating heat from his back as his scent infested his nose.

"Thinking, professor, perhaps you are familiar with the concept." She pinned, moving her arms as she calculated her chances. If her teacher missed her move now, she would have a chance to move the white ball against the black ball and check for a new pocket while she waited for luck. But she still needed to make the man go wrong.

"You should move." He commented, after spending the chalk on his stick and staying on her back. The yellow ball was right in front of Celine, very close to her thigh, but she was going to do anything but lose a bet. Then she swept her dark hair away from his shoulders and looked at him over them, Celine had a dark face.

"If you want to play, you'll have to play with me here, professor." Her tone was so low that she could have sworn she was whispering.

"Miss Mitchell, you're almost on top of my final shot." The professor argued.

"Was I expected to give you your final shot of the tray? I still have a chance." Celine explained, looking at the table.

"Move your left arm away." He ordered, passing the wooden stick through the space between his arm and his waist, his torso was precisely glued against the side of his body when the man positioned himself. The silky fabric of her shirt was glued to the thick linen of her dress and she could feel her breath against the left part of her back, the way her hard chest was rising and falling slightly at a strong pace. Celine registered while her chin was flying just above her shoulder so she had a better field of view, she took advantage of the contact to lean her body back just an inch when he moved his arms forward and it made his wrist sound before the calculated and her shot became confused, the white ball hit her but number one just spun forward. "Illuminate me, Miss Mitchell, was it your advisor who taught you cheating tricks like that?" But her eyebrow was raised sensually and it took her a while your eyes there longer than necessary.

"I don't know what you're talking about, professor." She replied, moving to her own shot. It was almost exciting when her body concentrated on that left part of the table, thanks to her teacher's failed shot the white ball was almost positively aligned against the black ball number eight and she could attack with a precise table and send to the last two balls pairs into the hole with just a latent pulse.

"It is a risky move, if the black ball falls before you will lose immediately, with no second chance of recovery." Her trailing voice shook each hair on her head.

"I don't have much choice at this point, do I?" She asked, massaging the white chalk on her wooden stick.

"You can attack the six ball and hope I make a mistake, or rather, be misled again." She suggested, with an almost tempting tone.

"And trust my victory in your lack of skill? It's not like it makes any sense, I'm not going to subdue my opponent." Celine replied, pinning her hair to the top of her head with trembling fingers and a firm wrist.

"Risking everything in a single move is also not very smart." The man looked like a devil blowing empty promises on the back of his neck, Celine was almost reaching out and asking him to guide her through all the hell hells described in Dante.

"Move before I pocket your chances of getting out of here with your money." The student announced over her shoulder, but the man didn't move for a long minute. Mitchell swallowed and prepared his move, tilting his hips back slightly until the end of his spine was almost touching the dark fabric of the man's pants. She smiled when she heard him take a deep breath and spent another second just staring at the balls, when her wrist moved slightly forward and her hip moved forward while the white ball spun with the impact, wrapping the number eight ball in a strong whirl and sliding it to the right pocket next to the last even ball on the table. Ball six fell into the hole and was followed by ball eight in an almost slow motion, sprawling on the edge like a damn cockroach before curling up in the darkness of the pocket.

"Fuck” Ethan screamed so loudly that he caught Celine off guard. "I knew." He ricocheted as he kissed Emma on the mouth like crazy.

"So, what exactly were you saying about my move?" When the man turned at the table, the man had warm eyes and an almost satisfied smile.

"Alan." He replied, putting away the cue.

"What?"

"I am not your professor here, much less your boss. My name is Alan." His black shirt matched the almost white blond strands on his head.

"Okay, Alan. My name is Celine and I just made you lose a lot of money and some reputation." The professor smiled broadly as they returned to the table and listened to the best comments from an utterly hallucinated Ethan about the game, when Celine returned from the bar with a glass full of red wine and a glass of beer for herself, she deposited her hand. red drink in front of the blond man and took his place. "I thought I'd make up for some of your expenses." 

When they left that night, John offered to share the taxi. After she greeted the happy couple, her feet stopped on her teacher's chair with a cheerful countenance before she slipped in a soft "good night, Alan."

He answered so low that she could have imagined things.

"Good night, Celine."


	4. fourth verse

And all that is beautiful one day ends.

\- William Shakespeare

There is usually martyrdom in getting up so early just to prolong the quiet time as long as you can, but he was unable to poke that memory for more than his nostalgic school days where his classmates sat still struggling with sleep and a little dirty , while he just blinked with attentive eyelids and lifted his shoulders amid morning laziness. It wasn't torture to get up early, not when your ritual was almost comforting in view of what model the rest of your day would be. Deep in his head, he knew he shouldn't have accepted the job, that he just couldn't handle so many roles in a single role. But at that time he could have accepted any administrative crap, just to occupy his head long enough and get him away from that sunny edge of his absence. He tried therapy, he lent himself to sitting in front of someone and counting the traumatic symptoms that continued to penetrate his skin like a needle and he pledged to keep going, week after week, month after month, year after year. Nothing worked, he was still looking at his absent place on the table and he felt a sick cake of vomit rising up to his soft palate. He tried to drink until he forgot, but he never forgot, she was tattooed on his brain, shrouded in darkness and smiling at him like a demon. He tried to forget, he considered shock therapy just to inhibit that dead part of his brain but he didn't have enough resources to go after his desire, life was still going on, people were still hoping he was alive and she wasn't.

The truth was, nobody expected Lilian Rickman to be the person who would cut his wrists and drown in a bathtub full of warm water, not Lilian. She was an example where she went, she smiled and enchanted, she had no qualms about having fun and she attended to people as if she really cared. She was truly adored by her friends, by the dozens of people who would be ready to throw themselves out of a building just to get a smile from her. Lilian was the sun, she was warm and fun, smelling like a ripe fruit and angry like a ferocious animal. There was not a single person who lived with them enough and had not wondered, at least once, how that bastard had caught a woman like her. Alan was her shadow, he was the dark, sullen man behind the most popular girl in his school. He was just a professor and she was the most successful doctor in her specialization, with colorful awards adorning her shelves and her name in scientific articles. She was truly passionate about people, with long conversations and warm hugs and a smile so beautiful that it could hurt, he grew up in solitude and lived like that. No one could say how two people so damned disproportionate could live together so well, if he were sincere, he didn't even know it. Still, it was impossible to doubt his love when Lilian practically floated in brightness when she met his eyes. Nobody expected her to make that decision, not when she had a prize to receive at the end of the year and the birthday of her lovely niece and the trip they would take to Greece, she always wanted to visit Rome.

Alan always thought he would die first, in fact, secretly he longed for it. He should go first, so he wouldn't have to deal with his absence. It was very clear that her need for her was disproportionate, very clearly, Lilian was all he had. The few friends, the nonexistent family and the insignificant work would not support a man if he lost all the light that inhabited his life. He would not survive. He should go first, it was fairer that way.

The night he stepped into the quiet house and called his name, humming that song she liked, he was tired and planning to convince her to go to dinner at that little Italian restaurant on the front corner of the neighborhood and so, hopefully, they could forget about the accumulated work and talk about that piece they needed to watch together. He called her name thirteen more times before checking the bathroom in the bedroom, noting the water seeping out from under the bed and the door ajar. The doctors say that what he experienced could have killed him, he wished it had been true, deeply he wished he had died the moment he laid his eyes on the damp blond hair and the lifeless blue eyes. She was mutilated, there was so much blood, but her appearance was almost comforting. Her mouth was slightly pale and her eyes were made of glass, but it was still her, Lilian shiny and warm everywhere, except that her skin was injected with ice and her heart had been frozen and she was not waking up, she would not wake up, his eyes would not open and she would kick him out of bed on a melancholy Sunday just to kiss him before he left. Except that Lilian never slept before him, she never, absolutely never, slept without having kissed him. She never left her bed without kissing him, that was the rule. Still, here she was, asleep without having left a kiss on her mouth.

The room was slippery that night, hot and noisy as the students mingled to discuss the topic he had brought up in the last class. It would be his last class on Wednesday and he couldn't wait to slip into his house, drink a mulled wine and make himself an excellent noodle fat enough to disfavor his waist, it's not like he was old enough to worry about what would be done to your older and older body. It was nonsense, really a flash, it was so subtle that he even noticed it when it happened. The student in the front chair, an unlocked from the fifth period, was turning her head to say something to her groupmate and her chin turned and her profile looked prominent and her head quickly associated the image with her assistant, the moment she asked him. he wished a good night and left the office with a quick nod. The girl in his office looked nothing like Miss Mitchell, he warned himself quickly. Her assistant had long wavy hair, not that smooth and black mass like the sky, it was a wild mess of curls curled from side to side, strands and strands framing her limpid face together with those two naughty streaks painted an almost adorable white . Apparently, it was a divine joke that she could look beautiful with whatever hair color was offered to her. Be it the natural dark brown, the faded blonde in the strands next to her ear that she probably had less ability to paint or the blonde strands falling against her face. She also didn’t have those light eyes of her student, Miss Mitchell has dark and annoying eyes, deeply dark like two immaculate onyx glued to her eyeballs, her eyelashes were not long innocent like the girl sitting in front of her, her eyes were almost profane, pointed and roundly large, adorning her features and always leaving her furiously screaming. There was absolutely nothing fragile about it, not usually, it seemed to have been forged in pure silver against war armor. The narrow and bony shoulders, the long pale arms always so well hidden in the thick clothes, the slim waist and the narrow hips. There was not a piece of it that was malleable, easy to be twisted and pulled so that it fell and disassembled, not a lit piece, not an inch of skin bathed in the sun. Not like Lilian, he scored. Nothing like Lilian. His ex-wife possessed that almost suffocating ability to be powerfully fragile, like a star, frighteningly lit. Her skin was tanned almost orange, when the sun touched her epidermis he had the impression that it could be made of gold, pliable and foldable gold, sweet and gentle. Not Mitchell, she was just rock, hard and firm. And when she looked at him, behind the limpid and shiny stones in an almost obscure black, he felt that her body was being torn and she was not looking at him but through him. When her wave was so hard it could break, when she extended her wrist so thin it could shatter under the weight of the paper, when she swallowed her drink and her throat seemed to be melting, when she smiled and there was a sadness so deeply buried in her own. lips, a pain so sharp that he wondered if kissing his mouth could hurt. Because that was exactly what she looked like, sore. When she hid her tiredness and refused to eat anything for at least twelve hours, when she strove to fulfill her duties almost sickly, when she looked at people with a sincerity so painful that she could hurt. When she looked at him in such a genuine way, as if she were naked, completely naked in front of her and stretched out like a marble statue about to collapse.

And then there was the powerful brain, the mind shaped in ruby and shot with diamonds set. The mind that made Helena chatter about her in any and all meetings, the mind that made her be desired by any professor in her department just for the preamble of what knowledge of her could do. The playful and malicious mind that teased him to the point of his break just to beat him on a dirty pool table, the mind that calculatedly tilted his restless hips and let his dress slip just enough to be captured by his eyes and set your spirit on fire. She was not a child, she was not as naive as she should be, how healthy it would be for a twenty-two-year-old to be. He had noticed it the second time he saw her, completely captivating as he paraded the power of his interesting personality to everyone he could. From her half-open blouse, calculatedly open, just enough to show that lacy highlight of her dark bra and the skirt just open just in the sinuous curve of her pale thigh. Even her choice of words, her choice of gestures, the cordial way she danced in Emma's arms and dragged her nose down the hideous cheek of a half-drunk Daniel. There was nothing merely innocent in the shameless way she embraced the redheaded teacher with her deadly lips and long fingers, the softness with which she remained dancing while burning the man twice her age from head to toe, that was her being irreversibly powerful as a witch, bewitching everyone and everything with her genuine smile and pulsating actions. The truth was that he could not dedicate more than his unquestioned attraction and the constant thoughts about that young woman with dark hair and opaque eyes, he could not do more than think, more than measure in detail each of the particles of warmth that seemed to fit that protruding curve of your neck. Women like Miss Mitchell, women as young and intoxicating as the sea, women who become mesmerizing at first glance and with a mind studded with precious stones, women like her were simply not within reach of a man in her position. She was standing on the crystallized top of a baroque church and all he could do was reach out and touch the silky fabric of her cloak, all he could have of her was her generosity and unparalleled sympathy. He was doomed to have her in some fun conversations surrounded by friends, to see her seek her overly approval and to share some pool games with her where she would flirt with him for sheer fun just because she could flirt with anyone and to withdraw an amusing result, she would smile at him just enough, just so that at the end of the day she would curve her beautiful lips and call him sir. That was it, that was exactly what he was for his person, a gentleman. A man too old for her to even consider him a man, a real man, the man he had once been. At the end of the day, he would still be the man thirty years older than her and old enough to be her father.

\- Professor, would you have a minute? "Almost conjured by her thoughts, it took her words a minute to infiltrate his hearing and awaken him from his daydreams. The signal had already dismissed her class and he was still there, sitting like a statue while he had a pile of evidence to be corrected on his home sofa.

\- Miss Huppert I do not have enough time to discuss your note now, if you properly arrange a meeting with my assistant I will be happy to clarify my points about your text. He replied, gathering his books and stuffing them into his dark leather bag before rising like thunder.

\- It's not about that, sir. "The girl insisted, Alan knew her well enough to know that her damn brain needed to be reevaluated at least once a week."

\- I really don't have time today, miss. The professor continued, looking at his wristwatch.

\- It's really important, professor. "Of course it was, everything was a deadly emergency for that group of selfish and miserably incompetent brats."

\- It better be, Miss Huppert. In fact, it is better that your life is at risk for you to spend my already scarce time. ”The man snorted, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he leaned against the white board behind him and raised an impertinent eyebrow, he was on the verge of snarling until the girl begged to be turned away from the university if she was making him lose time.

\- My group from your final project went to your office last week, we followed your advice to set up a meeting so that we could present the project, but you were not there and your assistant ... well, she was a little rude to all of us. "Her eyebrow dissolved into pure contemplation." In fact, she was a little violent with her words and one of the students was deeply frightened by her behavior. The redhead rubbed her hands nervously.

\- The accusation that you are proposing is really serious, are you aware of that? - Being unpleasant to a student was a usual thing for any decent person with a minimum of nervous nerves, scaring a student with too rude behavior was against the rules.

\- It turns out, professor, that this behavior is not an isolated case. We, well… we took her school history from her and noticed that she has a police report here at the university. "That was going from bad to worse, from very bad to much worse, faster than he could have noticed." Miss Huppert now did not seem insecure and nervous, she was almost proud of herself. But as it is against the rules of the university to expose this kind of information, we went to the father of one of the people present on the day and he pulled out his file at the police station that Act. The truth, professor, is that she was accused of getting into a fight with a man until she needed to be stopped. It's all here, see it with your own eyes. Suddenly, there was a printed document with pale sheets of paper in her hands and she was lifting them to her like a piece of bloody cake. - I advise you to read the entire testimony of police officer responsible for the occurrence. She was not injured, the man was old enough to be her grandfather and she kicked his jaw away. "Her eyes were on fire the moment the lines of the incident started to make sense in her head." A woman like that, with that temperament, shouldn't be around people, professor, I certainly don't think so. - She spoke, curling her tongue in disgust.

\- Who else knows about the existence of that document, Miss Huppert? "Her fingers were hot and her head was throbbing like a time bomb."

\- I just sent an email to my department colleagues, professor, we were organizing a petition to contain it. "To contain her, what did they imagine the girl to be, an animal?"

\- Miss Huppert, you proved her point and brought it to me, that should be enough. Spreading confidential information about a student's history at this university is against the rules, regardless of the case. ”He could tell, from the pale shape she was looking at, from the clumsy way her chest was beating faster than necessary and the whiteness on her lips, that her voice was lower and deadly enough to choke.

\- I apologize, professor, my colleagues and I were just looking for a way to protect ourselves. - Protect yourself from a girl? What threat would she be offering so that such repercussions would be caused.

\- Your complaint has already been made, Miss Huppert. I will deal with this matter personally, but I will not admit that such an exposure is made to a student. ”After folding the thick pages and stuffing them into his bag, Alan took a steady step into the hall.

\- I understand, professor. ”The student scored, before he left the room.

People always expect the prelude to a great catastrophe, that is why studies have been developed on mechanisms to predict a great storm, a paranoid organization just to assess the size of the intensity of an air current or the dark tone of the piped water when a volcano is restless enough to scare. That is why lightning rods were needed on top of large buildings, so everyone, even though they do not believe in the time data so severely, allows themselves to sit and assess the weather woman in her tight dress, expose how many degrees they should do that day and if it would be. necessary to use an umbrella. Internally, trying to control time is just another twisted control action by humans, as well as playing in illegal casinos while trying to control their own luck. But the truth was that no one could really predict when a storm was coming, when houses would collapse, when the roof will fall on the head of an innocent child and crush its livid and livid skull, no one could really talk about it. Alan did not anticipate that it would happen either, not when the wind was blowing quietly and in cool breezes and the water was clear and smelling slightly of chlorine, not when Celine was a young woman so sore that seeing her fists shocked against another human being was almost a fantasy. So, when he arrived at Helena's office the next day with the handful of papers detailing what happened, he didn't anticipate that she would be so scared.

\- Where did you get that? "It was the first thing the black-haired woman questioned, closing her colorful diary and pulling the digitized sheets out of her hands. - This is confidential. -

"Does that mean you knew about it and were covering it up?" A latent pain had penetrated his head the night before, as he read and reread each line of the officer who witnessed the crime. Apparently, Celine had been approached by this seventy-year-old man and entered an almost catastrophic state of physical violence, the man was very clear when he pointed out that he, even though he was much older than the young woman, had to ask for reinforcements to contain her and try to minimize The damage. The victim suffered multiple physical injuries, lost two teeth and had his jaw kicked so many times that he was partially dislocated. However, that made no sense, there was no logic that the same girl, the girl who lost her color when she was neglected, the girl who made such smart comments and smiled like a picture, the girl who climbed up on the chair to align a painting , that girl could not kick an old man on a dark sidewalk and almost pull out his jaw.

\- Covering her up? That was self-defense, it is at the top. Celine is not accused of anything, she reacted to a dangerous situation. ”Helen pointed out, her eyes sparkling.

\- The girl almost killed a man of age to be her grandfather and left without a scratch, that does not seem self-defense. ”He continued, his pain gradually increasing.

\- I was not informed of your police training, Alan. Digging up this paperwork is not going to do any of us any good, least of all Celine, it needs to remain confidential. "From the almost disturbing way the woman was leaning, her shoulders stiff enough to break a glass window if she was needed, she knew a lot more than she was talking about.

\- Some students said that she treated them violently, they did their own investigation and the entire art department is aware of the situation. - Alan confessed, taking a deep breath. - I can't have a person with this background employed in my office, Helena, the students will not forgive. -

\- Alan, this cannot be revived. "The literature teacher got up so quickly that she could have had a pressure drop, when her hands touched her own neck she shivered." Celine is not a violent person, she reacted violently in a dangerous situation. -

\- Helena, I am absolutely not here to judge the attitudes of a woman when faced with violence, I am here because the way that this testimony was made makes room for speculation. "His student's gaze was still stretched out in his eyes, a winning smile and attentive eyes." If my entire department already knows, it won't be long before the entire university finds out. -

\- There must be a solution. -

\- I can't deal with what I don't know, Helena. The woman in front of her opened her eyes in horror, massaging her left temple as she sighed loudly.

\- It's not my secret to tell. -

And so, in that way, the first thunder before the pouring rain poured against the ceiling sounded like a sacred roar, rocking the floor and smashing the windows. The art history professor passed furiously through the door of his department's office, there needed to be a point, a missing part to explain that conduct bordering on madness. Perhaps he was too blinded by the painful way her voice sounded, by the depressing pallor of her skin and the intelligent curiosity of her eyes, to actually be able to see her behind the satisfying mask. Perhaps he had always been there, the angry record of rampant fury, the physical urge to stay and fight instead of running and saving himself. He must have something, an automatic action that saw only a prelude to his furious behavior, a violent word, a thick, scalding layer of hard hands being flattened against the wall. But the more he sought, the less any of the charges made sense, Celine did not exude violent energy, she never did. Not even once. Never, absolutely never. She didn't fit, like a girl who replenished a porcelain vase with colorful flowers every week could be the same girl who broke a man's nose with her own hands.

When the woman entered the door like a silver bolt cutting through the clouds in a cut so deeply confused that it dripped blood, she looked anything but violent. In fact, she seemed abused. A handful of papers crumpled in her hands when she practically tore the door off her personal office in an inhuman crash. The small white turtleneck cardigan was outlining her torso over her baggy jeans, her hair was damp with rain and her eyes were sick. She was crying, he noticed, a few minutes earlier.

\- Professor, maybe you could explain to me what this is doing in the hall? She cried out, her soft voice so severely affected that her body throbbed once more. The man probed the printed cardboard paper with large letters large enough to be read from miles away.

Student Celine Mitchell attacks the elderly on the outskirts of the university. "Angry and psychotic." Affirms the police responsible for the incident, read the full case.

Her own fingers tightened as she read the irrational words, her assistant was almost deathly still, really looking like a marble statue now, without the constant flow of blood running down her smooth face. - There are at least two of these on each staircase. She whispered, her voice breaking.

\- Sit down, Miss Mitchell. The professor asked and she clenched her jaw so hard that he was waiting for her teeth to break and bone to break.

\- I don't want to sit down. ”She persisted, her throat aching.

\- You behavior scared some students of the sixth period, more specifically Miss Huppert who felt threatened and pulled her criminal record with the police father of another student. I was informed that she has alerted the entire arts department so that you are removed from office in order to avoid a situation of violence. —When her short nails scratched her arm inside the thick sleeve of her dress, Alan remembered that the girl was not given to external violence but internal violence. She was a masochist and not a sadist. Again, the whole situation did not make any sense. - I can assure you that I do not agree or endorse this type of ridicule and exposure in my department, but there is not much I can do without knowing what I am dealing with. hands on the table. - What I can and will do, at that moment, is to have these hideous posters removed and punish whoever produced them. -

\- It was self-defense. - The glimpse of his exhibition almost blinded the director with its silvery glow.

\- The policeman wrote that there was not a single scratch on his skin. "Which was not a lie, from the way his face contorted in a painfully sickly grimace."

\- It was self-defense. ”Celine repeated, like a mantra, Alan wondered if she was saying this to him or repeating it to herself.

"Miss Mitchell, what was the exact danger that made you kick a partially unconscious man to the point of dislocating his jaw?" —He noticed, the very second, that thousandth where the cup falls on the floor and its interior breaks so easily that the pieces turn to dust. He realized, the very moment that his teeth pressed into his lips so tightly that a line of blood dripped from the battered seam.

\- It was self-defense. ”Her eyes were shaking, her shoulders were shaking and her chin was bleeding. This was not the face of a violent and psychotic woman, it was the portrait of a girl too young to have such a catastrophe over her head.

\- I can not continue to employ someone with this history of violence Miss Mitchell, especially when this behavior becomes evident to my students. - Apparently there was no way she could become more frighteningly silent, until if she was no longer producing a single sound, like if your lungs were no longer functioning and your organs were suddenly silent. - This man, did he harass you? -

\- No. - It was a whisper.

\- Did he threaten you? -

\- No. -

\- Did he try to steal her belongings? -

\- No. -

\- Did he touch you improperly? -

\- No. -

"So, Miss Mitchell, what did this man do to make your response to violence?" ”Celine was blinking in fright now, like an animal caught in the headlights of a moving car.

\- I can not say. "It was so soft, so soft it sounded like a melody."

\- Can't or don't want to? -

\- Both. "A symphony, it seemed, the noisy sound of an orchestra."

\- Unfortunately, that escapes my arcades now, Miss Mitchell. ”He spoke at last, pulling his gaze from his pale face and taking a deep breath before running a hand over his straight hair. - Your resignation will be forwarded today to the rectory, please close the door when you leave. -

She did, the damn girl did exactly what the director of the arts department asked. Gathering his belongings in an absurd silence, shoving his own notebook back into the leather postman bag and walking out of the room with steps so smooth they could be made out of feather. And the day passed like a gentle breeze, that flash of shallow rain next to the unhappy models of posters that were filling the department building. There were dozens of different ads, including a photo of the injury to which the man had been exposed. It looked like a black and white X-ray, a red circle was pointed to the place where the thin bone would have been broken, a visible crack. Alan spent too much time looking at the photo, hands in his pockets as he stared for the thousandth time that day at the indisputable evidence that he had been blind. Completely blind. In the past, he prided himself on being good enough to notice when a person was being real or just hiding under that thick layer of warmth, he never suspected that Celine was within that vast group of people. But here it was, indisputable proof of his blind old age.

The storm became a hurricane in the days that followed, when things took on far greater proportions. Now it was not only the arts building that was covered with offensive posters, the entire university was decorated with violent phrases and details recalled from the police report. The library now had two large blood-red signs warning of a student's violent nature. Now whenever Mitchell tried to feed in the public cafeteria at the university, she was surrounded by bad words and couldn't find a place to sit before frightened looks were directed at her. Now she could not attend her class without being harassed by students shouting at the phrases of the police officer responsible for the incident, the words "crazy" were never so naturally repeated by students on floor number two through the broken window of the door. Now she was walking down the halls with dark circles under her eyes and hands so shaking they could hurt. Now she was feared like an animal and treated like one. Until everything exploded in blood and punches, a week later.

The director of the arts department was leaving his last meeting when he noticed the strange movement outside the teacher parking lot, he was still confused when he walked over to his black Audi, the circle could not have less than twenty students whispering words that he couldn't understand. Before the man could reach the crowd a scream sounded so loud that it echoed across the sky and bounced off the bright moon, suddenly the students were moving and there was violence and blood dripping on the grass. Security guards were running towards the circle and Alan did not even notice when his feet covered by the social shoe were drawn like a magnet until the strange movement. The men in suits pushed the students away and everything became visible, Miss Mitchell looking even smaller in the middle of the move, being protected by a tall, blond colleague while she had her hand bleeding and her lower lip bleeding. Two students were also injured, one trying to hold the other so that he would not go forward again and further blows were fired.

\- Come on, show everyone the psychopath you are. Or does your fury only manifest itself against defenseless people? The boy roared, leaning his chest forward and spitting blood.

\- Shut the fuck up or I'll shut up for you. The tall blonde offered, furious.

\- Come on, is that all you know how to do? "The man chased, letting go of his friend with a blind pull." Crazy shit like you should be in a straitjacket and taking shocks to your brain, not moving freely like a human being. "Celine burst into flames, she He moved so quickly that it felt like lightning when his fingers closed over the face of the provocative man's pale face. He fell so hard on the impact that his legs failed and his body throbbed to the floor, his fingers were clinging to her shirt and his ex-assistant ended up hitting the grass over him. Her dark hair was moving when she punched her face again, and he grabbed her neck with tight fingers. Security guards were on him now, pulling the student's muscular shoulders out of Celine's thin, exposed neck, but he wasn't interested in pulling back.

\- I'm not crazy. - She got the strength to spit in her face and the art history teacher was an inch away from going there and he himself kicking that boy's head hard enough to rip his skull out, he couldn't. His head was screaming a lot of warnings as he dropped his own bag and continued to try to reach the group of students before something more tragic unfolded.

Mitchell was turning almost purple, his bloody lips were white and there were tears streaming from her eyes as she kicked and kicked, the security guards pulled and the tall blonde tried to scratch the boy's face for him to let go. When one of the security guards threw himself against the shoulder covered by the man's dark shirt, he was caught with such a surprise that his body rolled to the side and he let go of the brunette's neck. Celine was breathing so deeply that her lung seemed to be cracked, with large cracks in her chest, curled up against the grass like an innocent child, crying as she held her own neck in panic. The golden-haired woman covered her body carefully, holding her face with clear eyes and saying words that Alan couldn't understand. Celine was crying, she could be screaming, the blood that was dripping from her mouth was slightly splashing on her white shirt and there were marks growing on the milky white skin of her slender neck, finger marks.

When a fleche was directed at her injured face, it really broke. The students were filming, they were not filming the student furiously struggling against security guards and shouting death threats, they were filming as she crawled across the floor while trying to force her lungs to breathe. And there were more people running over there now, there were teachers containing the confusion and staff trying to speak to Miss Mitchell, but she was destroyed. She was made up of pieces so tiny now that they couldn't be glued back together, she was sobbing and crying, the noise coming out of her mouth could most certainly sound like a torturous whine. Alan Rickman had never seen anyone look as painfully cracked as he did now, his chest was broken and his eyes were pierced and his throat was tearing up in the exact places of the dark reddish marks where fingers had been and his mouth was open while she was drowning. It was panic, he noticed. Pure and latent panic. And then he noticed, there was the indisputable proof that this woman was not forged in pure and uncontrolled violence.

Celine had enough strength to break that student's jaw, if her body was so full of adrenaline when on the day of the occurrence, she would have flown over him and kicked him in the face. But she didn't. She was surrendered and subdued, she panicked when her hands held her breath and her brain froze.

Celine was not purely uncontrolled, there was the proof, even if it was provoked, she did not give in to that sick flash. Which just showed that there was more, there was certainly much more behind that police report than its surface layer.

After the incident in the parking lot Celine stopped attending university, he noticed, there was no longer the white scarf with small embroidered flowers flying in the back of the library, she was no longer sitting in that cafeteria in front of her building next to her faithful blonde squire while sharing a snack, she was no longer taking a tired nap on the leather sofa in the upper office, she was no longer entering the door with that bouquet of beautiful flowers, she was no longer with her legs properly raised on her wooden table while leafing through one of her hardcover books, she was no longer walking up the stairs in her dirty shoes, she was no longer invading the teachers' room just to dedicate a long, affectionate kiss to Emma's left cheek, she was no longer looking at Alan as if he could read the fine print of his skin and interestingly, the teacher noticed, each time that his presence was not there, he noticed. He felt it on her bones, a layer of ice running down her pores.

It had been three weeks since Celine offered no other sign of her presence, the posters were a cold memory and the students seemed satisfied with her withdrawal. Miss Huppert offered to supply her office tasks while he did not acquire a new candidate for himself, but if he was honest with himself, he was not interested in putting someone else inside those silent walls. The truth was that Celine had spoiled it for him, the moment her little porcelain vase decorated the empty table with flowers and scents, she spoiled any other assistant, she kept spoiling it day after day.

Emma looked miserable whenever she entered the door with a narrow beak and nervous hands in search of information, but he had none. He didn't have his personal number, let alone her address, and he was sure that in an emergency, he wouldn't be one of the people she would call. Generally, he indicated that the teacher would dedicate her lamentations to Helena, after all, she would be the only one to withhold news about Celine at that time of the championship.

The director was trying not to give it a second thought, but things were more difficult now. How could he just ignore the gloriously petrifying way the girl was held, the way her eyes became hard and cold as they felt his hands on her neck, her limbs instantly stopped working that minute, it was almost a defense mechanism. But Alan had already read enough about psychological actions and reactions to fear to understand that all human actions are formed through copies, we copy what we have already learned, acquire the trauma and repeat it until our head copies that piece delicate and arrange an intact exit. He revisited the scene, once again, Celine could use her leg that time, she could have hit her neck with a punch so hard that the boy just wouldn't have a chance and yet, she didn't. She didn’t do it because when he held her neck she paralyzed, she still wasn’t without oxygen, his hands couldn’t stand to push for much longer and yet, she surrendered. She surrendered as if she had experienced it before, like a copying mechanism, that was the way her body reacted to danger, she surrendered.

Human beings fight unknown people for survival, the first instinct is always to fight. Women victims of aggressions from strangers tend to fight first and then surrender. Never surrender at first, it didn't make sense, again, it didn't do anything. The copying mechanism was not an unknown trauma, he concluded, if it were, Celine would have struggled before finally paralyzing and surrendering.

\- He's not a stranger. ”Alan announced, entering the literature teacher's office with such force that the door almost creaked in his fingers, his head was seething with such force that he could be melting. If he was minimally correct, that was a hole too deep for a twenty-two-year-old girl to handle alone. - The man, the man in the police report is not a stranger who just appeared on the street. I am right? -

\- No he's not. - Helen confessed, passing that impatient hand against her face. - How much did you find out? -

\- Not a lot. ”He replied, sitting across from her with an unfamiliar calm.“ She didn't react violently in the parking lot, in fact, she froze when he grabbed her neck. —The teacher's hair was all back now, her eyes were surrounded by those dark basins, and her lips looked like they had recently been exposed to an episode of fever. -

\- She showed me the file only once, I didn't ask her for the details. -She was standing now, filling that crystal glass with the amber liquid of her scotch whiskey that burned her skin from the inside out, Helena was always a self-controlled woman from head to toe, Alan suspected that her escape valve was whiskey .- He is your grandfather. "She blew, swallowing a hot sip." Her mother became pregnant very early and her father, of course, ran away. She needs to work and the man looked trustworthy, I mean, she was her grandfather, he should be trustworthy." A glass was placed in front of her but the director doubted that he could swallow anything now. Celine just remembers that some things started at the age of seven, small things, putting pepper in her juice and making her drink everything. Put pins on her blouse and make her stay dressed all day. Burn her fingers with a cigarette if she doesn't obey. The teacher stopped for a minute, her dark eyes shining, her hand shook slightly before she stuffed it in her pants pocket. He used a stylus when she didn't clean her furniture properly, he covered her face with a shirt full of water and let her almost suffocate, he locked her in the bathroom for days without food and other things that I don't have the psychological conditions to repeat in a voice high. -Alan could not speak, there were no words in her mouth, there was no sound in her body, there was nothing. It was hollow, completely empty. The woman in front of him wiped his eyes and swallowed the rest of his drink. - There was never rape, it was never about pedophilia. The man was a sadist, he was arrested when Celine was old enough to understand that this was not a normal thing. "The laughter that escaped in her mouth made the man's fingers almost break." Apparently he converted to prison and returned in search of his damn forgiveness, he made his days miserable, calling her apartment and knocking on her door. When he approached her, she responded. -

\- She was reacting to trauma." The professor whispered, blinking so slowly that he might pass out.

\- Celine is not violent, she has been exposed to violence long enough to know how to handle it, but she is not violent. "And there it was, the prelude to catastrophe." And now the same man who destroyed your childhood is destroying your gift, Celine is giving up on the course. ”Alan picked up his own glass this time, pouring the strong liquid directly into his mouth so that in some miraculous way, the burning of the alcohol could soothe the hideous coldness that was threatening to take hold of her skin. His head was still filled with images that now, at this very moment, made sense. Celine surrendered on the dark floor of the parking lot with the man's hands on her neck while she simply stopped fighting and became immobile, a child, that was a child aware of the strength of an adult over her, she couldn't fight, she wouldn't have how to master it, she was a child. Her entire body was cold, icy, completely frozen. - I don't know what to do, Alan. -

\- Call her for a chat, but give me my address instead of hers." He offered, pulling out his cell phone before getting up with a throbbing head.“ I have exactly thirty minutes, but if you could guarantee that she'll be there tomorrow morning, I can come up with a plan. -

\- What we discussed cannot be exposed." The woman stated stiffly. The man nodded slightly before leaving the room with painfully tight steps on his way to the rectory.


	5. fifth verse

"Whether by chance or by nature."

\- William Shakespeare

A long time ago, long and turbulent years ago, when her feet did not know the juicy and moody floor of the city of London, Celine found herself wandering among the wide and morally tormented streets with her dark shoes and curious eyes. She was doing this now, very aware of which street she should take so she could arrive earlier at the location agreed by her very alert advisor on her call. Helena did not seem interested in her reservations when she expressed as promptly as she could, that no, her leaving the university was not in dispute and yes, she needed to go to the art history professor's residence so that some things could be settled. Celine was not stupid enough to believe that the woman would be present, she had already lived long enough with her teacher to understand that he did not make her profile, she would not be spying on their conversation over her shrewd shoulder just to provide her student. an extra dose of comfort and confidence, Helena assumed that everyone must deal with their own demons alone and the student could not help but agree with her. Even though she was just so tired of dealing with her hellish wars alone, she was about to give up her army and let the darkness of her traumas enter her life with golden swords and gray eyes.

Honestly, she was hoping that everything had collapsed ahead of schedule. She had been waiting for that moment for all her graduation years, patiently waiting for when her bloody victim record was released and pious looks were shared with her by the runners. She was hoping that each of the strangers would be taken by guilt so ridiculously intrusive enough that her figure would be approached with teary eyes and shy smiles, that film has played so many times in her life that her fingers burned only with the lazy glimpse of the situation . All she needed less was pity and compassion from strangers, it made her head roll in a crackling fire into her own burned body, nothing could repair her past, much less stupid excuses. But the way it came, that everything exploded on plaster walls and was rolled like an avalanche down her spine when the posters appeared, Celine did not expect that. In the back of her head, she was grateful, it was much better to be labeled as an aggressively uncontrolled creature than as a helpless victim.

\- In between. "When a voice sounded in her ear, the literacy realized that she was absent while wandering the filthy streets of the British city and had finally stopped on the dark ceramic steps of the dark-walled residence." Would you like a towel? "The professor was as dressed as he always was, his arms covered by his dress shirt and his dark green coat covering his target neck." Still, when she stepped on the rug in her large, rustic room, her eyes inevitably seemed to sweep him naked.

\- That's a bad idea, I shouldn't be here. "It was the only thing Celine said, crossing her arms so tightly against her body that her nails made a small bruise against her forearms." Her sweatshirt was splashing in the rain, her jeans were stained with dirty water on the folded hem and her body was so tired that she suspected that once she fell, she would never get up again - I'm sorry, that's a terrible idea. She concluded, grabbing the doorknob she had just entered. Long fingers wrapped around her hand and prevented her from turning the ball made of sturdy wood, the teacher pulled the straps from her heavy backpack and touched the peak of her clothed back as he led her to a graceful spacious sofa with white cushions.

\- Miss Mitchell, your current state of nerves says otherwise. ”He informed, dumping his dark backpack into one of the dark armchairs as she sat on the right end of the sofa and breathed in deeply the aroma of black tea embedded in the quilt.“ Let me bring you a towel and a hot drink. —Celine was unable to protest when the man disappeared down the right corridor and left her alone facing an unlit fireplace, a large Renaissance painting with a partially nude woman bathing in a large translucent lake, a large wooden bookcase covered with books and a coffee table. center with wooden legs and transparent glass top. There was no picture frame, she noted, when she tried to drink the image of the cozy room. The only window that covered the walls looked directly onto a small flower park on the next corner, some people walking and the rain hammering on the flat surface. - Here it is. The professor announced, holding out a shaggy square for himself and a floral cup being placed on the small rectangular coffee table in front of him.

Celine did not look at him as she rubbed her spattered arms on the towel, smelling like fresh soap, sliding it onto her lap and down her tired face. She also didn't look at him when she drank her black tea with almond milk, it was her favorite, she believed it should have been just another coincidence of fate. The headmaster had a black cup with him now, sipping it as he eyed his eyes cautiously. Her coat was gone, her dress shirt was unbuttoned on her thick wrist and two buttons were open on her chest, her hair was longer now and she wondered if he had forgotten to visit the hairdresser recently or was it just the sight of something a day it was everyday that was confusing his brain. She wanted to cry, she noticed when she finished her drink and the pleasant heat flooded her aching body, she wanted to cry until she fell asleep. It had been such a hellish day, terrifying day as she tried to reason about how hard she should hit when someone purposefully bumped her on the shoulder.

\- Miss Mitchell, now that we are calmer. I would like to clarify a few things first before you decide to protest again. "The director started, crossing his legs covered in dress pants on the chair directly in front of him, Celine was clinging against the arm of the comfortable sofa so as not to sink against the cushions and no longer have the strength to stand up." Professor Helena and I discussed the situation that arose involving your name, unfortunately I became aware of the other events that preceded your reaction and I am not going to discuss anything about your past here and now, I doubt that this is favorable for this situation. "A comfortable sigh escaped silently from her lips." I requested an emergency meeting with the rectory and brought them up to date with the situation, obviously respecting their privacy, nothing more than what is public in their history has been revealed. The rectory was already aware of the events and was very helpful about your situation and I would like to discuss this with you now. Okay? -

"Yes," Celine whispered, apprehensive.

\- After a few meetings, my lawyer and I, who will now be representing, think that the best way forward would be to file a lawsuit against the university. This has also been discussed with the rectory and they are in agreement, if you file a libel and libel case directly on the people who released your information, it could become even more intimate and result in more ammunition to disclose about you. Moving a lawsuit against the university makes the rectorate responsible for taking the necessary means against the students, in this case, initiating a lawsuit against Miss Huppert and those involved in her exposition. “The art history professor swallowed his tea again while a very dazed Celine tried to get her brain to absorb that information.” The university will accept an agreement on the process and you will receive an amount of compensation for the situation you were exposed to, the rectory will disclose a statement of the situation as well as the opening of a case against all students involved in the situation. You will have your name dissociated from these people and will receive a protective measure so that none of them will contact you again inside and outside the building. -

\- I didn't know that any of this was possible, in fact, I think my brain is not being able to process any of what I'm hearing. She commented, blinking as she looked at her own pale hands.

\- Any educational institution has an obligation to guarantee the physical and moral integrity of its students, Miss Mitchell. The university failed you when you let that happen. ”The professor explained, her lips looking sad when her voice sounded weak.“ I also failed you when I let that happen, her integrity is also my responsibility while she was my employee. It was my students who started this fuss, I should have foreseen and prevented it. -

\- It is not as if you could predict all this, at one time or another something was going to happen. ”Celine tried to laugh, but the sound that left her throat was like a strangled moan.“ I can't decide if it was better or worse. -

\- My job was to have anticipated, as compensation for the situation that exposed it, I will be compensating you with the amount necessary for the completion of your research. "If the girl had been on her feet, she would have fallen." At the beginning of the period, Helena had contacted her about a small donation from the department to try to cover the expenses of her research, the books she would need to examine would have to be sent from the personal collection of the author's family and that would require a considerably high amount. The man was proposing to bear nearly ten thousand pounds of books alone, his eyes fell. - Just as if, if you are still interested, recover your job or be relocated to another teacher. Your job and your research will be guaranteed, as well as your stay now duly protected within the university. -

\- Alan. "She started, noting the almost awkward way her eyes blinked at her." You don't have to compensate me, it wasn't your fault. —Maybe it was the sickening amount of days Celine had spent in the open, the threats that arrived in her mail or the psychotic way she became around the university buildings, maybe it was all that was making her almost cry when she watched that man completely without guilt promising her a sinfully generous indemnity.

\- I was aware of the manipulative behavior of my students, I heard their complaints at the bar and yet, I didn't imagine that this would culminate in this situation. My indemnity is not open to discussion. "He added, almost noisily."

\- I'm not accepting your compensation. Mitchell finally announced, twisting his mouth in a hellish grip.

\- Miss Mitchell. ”He protested, but the student just folded his hands powerfully in his lap and let his spine rest on the back of the pleasant sofa.

\- Keep talking, I will not let you indemnify me when we have already established that none of this had its endorsement. The man snorted loudly but the graduate just narrowed his eyes before raising an unkempt eyebrow.

\- Why don't we leave it to discuss this tomorrow, in the presence of the rector's legal representative and the lawyer who is filing his suit? "The director offered, pulling his glasses off his pretty face and giving up with tense shoulders and a tired look." Are you going to travel? He asked, finishing his tea while pointing with his eyebrow at his stuffed backpack.

\- My apartment has infiltrations up to the ceiling, I'm going to spend a few days in a hotel. "When the director got up, returning in just a few seconds with a clear glass teapot filled with an infusion of herbs and slices of fresh lemon." Thank you. "She thanked him when her cup was poured."

\- What hotel are you staying at? "The tea was slightly alcoholic, but she concluded that the man had probably soaked his infusion with some kind of sweet liquor."

\- I haven't solved that yet. What time will the meeting be tomorrow? "If she were smart enough, Celine would look for a spare room in that simplistic hotel next to the university's performing arts building and thus ensure that getting to the meeting was not a problem."

\- At three o'clock. The professor replied, giving her a curious look as she tried to imagine the price of any of the rooms in that three-star hotel on the corner of the university. At that time of year the London hotels were full of boring tourists and their irritating animation, the prices went up like an elevator and a breakfast could be more expensive than a dinner in a decent restaurant. - The hotels in the region are increasing their reservations for absurd prices due to the tourist season, it is not advisable. He announced, practically reading her mind. Before Celine could happily agree with him and thank him for the tea, so that he could get up and be ready to pop his credit card in a questionable-looking room in the busy center of London, he opened his mouth again. - Stay here while your apartment receives due repairs. ”And Mitchell froze with his hands tucked into the sides of the sofa.“ I have an empty guest room, Emma stayed here during Ethan's trip to Canada, but he's vacant now and I don't usually receive guests. -

\- Professor, I really appreciate it but ... - The man interrupted her loudly.

\- Miss Mitchell, your last days were almost torturous. You were exposed, harassed and assaulted inside the walls of that university, for an action brought by my reckless students. I will not allow you to spend an absurd amount on a minimally decent room, when there is a perfectly comfortable room to meet your needs here. "An almost shameful feeling swept through your stomach." The house is big enough for you to at least feel my presence, and I spend most of my time at the university, as you well know. Stay. -

\- I'm not going to accept your compensation, however. The student informed, finishing her second hot cup of tea.

\- It's a start. The gray-haired man replied, under his drink.

When the director of the history department said the house was big enough that she wouldn't notice her presence, he wasn't lying. The man guided her down the spacious hall that opened onto a simple kitchen, steadily following a hallway on the left decorated with a series of rare pictures on the dimly lit walls. At the end of the corridor there was a rectangular wooden staircase, the second floor had that comfortable room with two smaller sofas and a reading armchair, the walls were filled with books and there was even a table for two with that beautiful scattered chess board. over. The professor stopped when he reached an elegant reddish wooden door, he turned the handle and let her look at the huge suite. A large four-poster bed lined with gray sheets, there were more pillows there than in her own apartment, in addition to the lovely black dresser and an extensive plush rug that would feel great against her feet.

\- The key is on the dresser, feel free to lock the door if you wish. —Celine felt like protesting about that, but she was too exhausted to do anything other than take off her shoes. “My room is the last door in the hall, I have no employees, but feel free to touch anything that be interesting. "He explained, arms crossed at the doorframe." My office is next to the stairs, it is a good place to study. The door closed when he left, leaving Celine far beyond dismayed as she walked, barefoot now, into the cold bathroom. After completely hellish weeks, Celine almost sank into the heated tub, her eyes were heavy when the girl wrapped herself in the towel and lay down against the nice sheets. The sun was still there when she fell asleep comfortably for the first time in days, her sleep remaining free from the hauntings of her restless past.

Celine dreamed that she was soaked in an amazing translucent lake, bathing in her transparent dress while she felt the water heal her skin from the old wounds, rubbing her arms carefully and drinking the pure water. She was still sinking headfirst into the running water when she woke up, sleepy eyes as she took a minute to settle down decent on the bed she was stretched out on. Her head recorded that part of the afternoon where she was at the art department professor's house, her offer and her beautiful home. Looking at the window now, the sky was dark and it looked like a starry nightfall when she put on that terribly short nightgown that she always wore to bed and escaped the room with careful feet. Her stomach was complaining too much for her to go back to sleep willingly, and she didn't think the man would be bothered by a small assault on her refrigerator in the early hours of the morning. The floor was quiet when she walked down the dark stairs, holding only the bright flashlight of her cell phone, honestly, she found it very unlikely that any haunt would choose such a beautiful house to disturb and keeping that thought safe with her, she arrived in the simple kitchen , turning on the pearly light and taking a deep breath while noticing that the house was still silent. Perhaps the man was not at home, which was perfectly fine, he could have gone out to resolve some of the countless appointments he had, or gone to dinner at some fancy restaurant he probably attended, he could have a date that night. It was perfectly reasonable, even so, Celine ignored that cold twinge that she shot at her lung when she imagined that scene, shaking her head and taking a deep breath as she carefully opened the refrigerator. The student retrieved that small glass bowl with slices of cheese, pulling out that bag of half-open bread and a box of iced tea.

The man certainly had more dishes than she needed, she noted as she reared up against the stainless steel sink so she could pull out that small porcelain plate, retrieve a glass cup and sit at the small round kitchen table. She was chewing the second half of her cheese sandwich when her iced tea ran out, and her eyes noticed the small thermos smoking, after leaving her dirty glass in the sink, she would wash it once she finished her meal, picked up one of the cups drainer and used the hot infusion. Her stomach thanked the warm liquid, but when her fingers were resting the bottle back in place, the shadow she noticed over her shoulder almost made her drop everything she was holding.

\- Cum! ”The scholar shouted, with a hand on his chest.

\- I'm sorry, as I said, I don't usually have guests at home. The man half smiled, but Celine was too busy between sitting back in the table chair sneakily and spying on her sleeping clothes. She had already concluded that the director was completely and irreversibly attractive in those hard-cut suits she insisted on wearing, but there was something very hot about seeing him wearing only a pair of sweatpants slung over his hips and that long-sleeved shirt slightly pressed against your stomach prominent. Her hair was damp and her face looked tired.

\- I promise I'm just stealing a sandwich, do you want one? "Which was a lie, she was already on her second."

\- I had dinner a little earlier. The professor replied, filling his own dark cup with hot tea and turning to face him.

\- It had been a few days since I had been able to sleep my eyes, I continued to imagine that he would be conjured by the situation and appear in my apartment, again. - He admitted, chewing the soft box bread against his hard palate.

\- Does he still reside in London? Alan asked, leaning against the clear stainless sink.

\- I never had the courage to check, after what happened ... I mean, after he came to me at the university, he said he was moving to Australia. I didn't believe it, I'll never be able to believe anything he says. ”She replied to her mug full of tea, talking about it made her lose her appetite.“ I keep dreaming that he's just lurking under my bed, outside the window, in my attic and on the nearest corner. Just, waiting… "His stomach was aching now, repressing his memories in sickening waves against his throat." Torturing me slowly as long as he can, he was always good at making me wait, anyway. - She confessed, swallowing the rest of her tea.

\- He's not waiting in this house, I can assure you. The man murmured, looking into her eyes almost carefully, almost if he was afraid she would find him a threat. Celine almost smiled. "He can't reach you here. ”Her bones crumbled against the chair, an almost hot sensation sweeping her skin.

\- If there's one thing that man taught me, it's that he can reach me anywhere, professor. —Celine explained, putting away the small bowl of cheese and the rest of the small bag of bread, washing the utensils with almost excessive care before merely registering the almost disturbing shape her boss was staring at, clumsy green eyes as she held her own cup steaming. - Goodnight. - The girl whispered, noticing that in addition to not answering her greeting, the man also did not leave his eyes when she walked back to the room with deaf steps.

The curtain in an almost cobalt blue was poorly positioned, causing a small orange streak to be pointed directly at his face the next morning and Mitchell waited for a few more safe seconds in his sleep before opening curious eyes and focusing on the window badly. covered. Finally letting her fingers get used to the soft carpet, she stepped carefully over to the spacious glass window and stared out at the wide, busy street. Some cars were stopped at a red light and there was that little pharmacy on the front corner, a woman was leaving the store with a plastic bag in her hand and her daughter in the other. It looked like a lovely neighborhood, not the one she lived in, if Celine stuck her head in the window one hour like that in her tiny apartment, she was staring at some group of drunken teenagers throwing up their stomachs in the prominent ditch on the street above. The house was also quiet when she stretched carefully as she descended the stairs, but the curtains were open and the sunlight made the light tone of the walls more welcoming. There was a breakfast served at the kitchen table, a breakfast much larger than she could have eaten. A small glass pilaster with a sliced cake, in addition to that basket of ripe fruit, fresh bread and some sweet delicacies. On that porcelain plate was that small pale paper with drawn calligraphy.

The rest is in the fridge. I left the key on the living room table.

(It is not theft when I offer.)

Alan

If Celine took the flap of the small paper to her lips in the midst of a sudden wave of latent excitement, the man would never know. If she rubbed the little handwriting against her damp lips as she opened the refrigerator and took out those plates of cheese and ham wrapped in film, he wouldn't know either. If she kept the paper in her robe pocket, she would die before making him aware of it. There was fresh juice in the fridge, sliced fruit, and a lush piece of chocolate pie. Celine sat comfortably at the stocked table and served herself as deeply cheerful as she had never been in months, she didn’t used to have big breakfasts, her life was hectic enough that she needed to learn to balance herself with just half buttered toast in on my way to your university and holding it until at least your lunch. The feeling of eating well at the first meal of the day gave her a little boost of vitality, she was calling Rosie when she finished her juice and started saving the rest of the meal.

\- Hello where are you? - Her friend answered, Celine was putting the phone on speaker when she started wrapping the plates of cold cuts and fruit with film paper so she could return them to the refrigerator. - I thought you were going to send me the name of the hotel yesterday. -

\- Sorry, there was a change of plan. - The brunette replied, closing the refrigerator with her hips and proceeding to collect the breads and cakes in glass jars. - I'm not in a hotel. -

\- And where the hell are you, Celine? "The blonde was more frowning than ever, after the terrible incidents in the parking lot she looked more like a grumpy bear mom than ever."

\- You have to promise not to take it maliciously. The student demanded, placing the jars in the refrigerator and cleaning the crumbs with her hand before collecting all the dishes she had soiled in the dry sink.

\- I don't like the direction of this conversation, spit it out. —Celine was washing the only dish she had used when the ex-model did her best accusing tone.

\- I'm at his place. When the words left her lips, the telephone line pricked, as if the phone was rolling loose in a velvet pouch and a series of strange sounds entered the kitchen as she struggled vehemently to keep from laughing at her own misfortune.

\- At his house? —Rosie insisted, breathless.

\- Yea. -

\- His? ”Her eyes rolled when she heard his tone.

\- Yes, Rosie. -

\- Could you explain exactly who is the one we are talking about? -

\- The only one that exists. -

\- I think I'm delusional, say your name so I can be sure. -

\- I'm at Professor Rickman's house, Rosalie. Good enough now? ”Turning off the faucet on the sink and wiping her hands on the small cotton dishcloth, Celine finally stared at the properly cleaned and sanitized table before going up the lighted stairs to get a decent shower. time. ”She added, jumping up the steps.

\- Bloody hell, Celine. How did a professional meeting become about you sharing a bed with your ex-boss? "Her friend's voice was tickling her target neck."

\- I'm not sharing a bed with him, I'm staying in his guest room while my apartment is being repaired. - She replied, taking off her clothes and walking to the large bathroom.

\- I thought the man hated you, you always spoke as if he hated you. - After a second the blonde added. - When you said he hated you it was like, I hate that you are hot or I completely despise your existence? -

\- Get your head out of the gutter. -

\- I can't get my head out of the gutter when you tell me you're at his house. -

\- As a guest, far enough from your pants as the devil is far from heaven. I have a meeting with the rectory at three o'clock today, will you be close? ”She dodged, letting go of her hair.

\- Certainly. -

\- See you in a few hours then. -

\- Don't forget to take pictures of the bed where he sleeps, maybe a used piece of clothing? I can make a lot of money from a used piece of clothing. -

\- Goodbye, Rosalie. -

A tingle took over her body at the exact moment that her friend's words stuck in her haunted conscience. No, she was definitely not going to spy on the very hot and mysterious professor's room who had invited her innocent to stay at her home. If she didn’t mess with her stuff it couldn’t be considered spying, could it? Before her head started shaking over a hot fire, she turned on the warm shower and let the water sweep away any and all disastrous thoughts. What didn't work, as soon as her eyes were closed powerfully in the darkness of her brain, torrential images of the man stuck in that set of sloppy pieces made his conscience vibrate. The fabric of her nightdress left almost nothing to the imagination, the tendons of her muscles being graced by the warm epidermis, the dark shadow of her nipples pushing against her shirt, the subtle detail of the thin hairs on her wide stomach that formed a small trail platter to the front of his elastic pants low on his hips. It was inevitable not to burn when all your body was projecting was how animatedly hot it could be to have your soft hands crushing every bit of skin on your body, the way your fingers were always so skillful against your books, the soft rumbling of your lips they always did while drinking a very hot portion of tea and their chest was hard against them. Celine didn't realize she was moaning when she rubbed her fingers against the needy flesh in the center of her legs, she would be so good for that man, it was a sin that all that goodwill was wasted on other people. There was no one else in her line of desire. All she could continue to imagine was the melodious sensation of feeling her bare skin against his, his warm hands holding her breasts as the ever so pathetic mind controlled man pushed his needy member against the crack in her ass, while his lips were wet. they bit the hot neck and his tongue tasted her skin. And when he finally took her neck with a big hand and filled it with his hot cock, Celine would moan so loudly that it would make each of the neighbors on that street know how well she was being fucked. After an orgasm swept over her like a lick of hot flames, the girl made a point of keeping her eyes wide open and changing the shower to ice cold.

She gave in to her instincts after she had already checked the entire house, running reckless fingers over each of the beautiful books in her office and smelling the small pot of aromatic flowers abandoned in the small living room on the first floor. When the entire house was already properly captured in its curious head, the student found herself in front of the dark door of the last room in the corridor. Perhaps he left it locked, after all, it was prudent to keep your room locked when you have a poorly known guest in your home. But to prove otherwise, the handle turned on her fingers and the door opened as easily as she could. She walked through the door with silky feet, almost afraid that the man's spirit was gracing the cream-colored walls. The room itself was quite ordinary, a spacious bed with pearly white sheets, a black dresser, a dark wooden wardrobe and a small piece of furniture with dark drawers. The first thing that attracted her attention was the small clear glass picture frame, which sat happily beside her unmade bed, it was a picture of her with a woman. Lilian, she assumed, approaching carefully and taking the piece in euphoric hands.

When John talked about the professor's ex-wife, he always described her as a bright and kind spot in the middle of people, now, she could understand her description. The woman was smiling in the photo, Celine almost smiled in blind length, her white teeth were curved against her lips brushed in lovely red. Her big pale eyes were stained by the light from the camera, her hair was almost remarkable gold, spread over her broad shoulders and falling even on the face of the art history professor. Her features were almost profane, a pointed nose, thin and elegant lips and a rounded chin making her almost physically lovable, her features were gracefully gentle. It would be impossible to give her a second look and to consider it hideous, if Lilian was just registered in a photo, she would not dare to consider how the doctor was personally. Alan was not looking at the camera, his green eyes were very busy focused on the woman in his arms. Her hand was on her chest, a ring shining against her black shirt and his hand was on her waist, it was so beautiful, so beautiful that Celine wanted to cry. Slowly, very gently, she returned the picture frame to its place of origin and traced a finger against the messy mattress. Her clothes were duly lined and starched on the wooden hangers when she opened her wardrobe, as she predicted, her dominant colors were from sober black to some lighter shades of blue and green. The dresser drawers contained those nightshirts, some sweaters with high collars and underwear that she definitely didn't spend a second more with her eyebrow raised. The bottom drawer contained a small flowered box, Celine spent more than a minute staring at the pink print before sitting on the floor and pulling out the delicate container and opening the lid.

She shouldn't be doing that, her voice in conscience whispered. But when the delicate cover came off, a small handful of papers flooded her field of vision. Celine held them carefully, the first paper was folded and had small yellow stains caused by the wear and tear of time. The letters that stained the yellowish were round and well made.

"Wear a nice sweatshirt today, I'm taking you out to dance.

Lilian Rickman "

"Sorry about the fight, your wife is a stubborn woman, you always knew. I am preparing the best breakfast of your life, give me a good kiss in thanks.

A sorry wife. "

"Come have dinner with me where you asked me to marry you.

(Wear that blue tie)

Lilian Rickman "

"When you wake up, know that I am thinking of your beautiful mouth.

Your Lily "

"Stop leaving your tickets in the fridge, I can't read pornography while trying to have breakfast.

Mrs Rickman "

"If you pick me up from work today, I promise to come back without panties in your passenger seat.

A woman with her broken car and a self-interested husband. "

"You make me happy.

Mrs I love you. "

"Happy birthday, dear. When are you going to let me dye the hair on your chest white too?

Lilian Rickman

Ps: I hope your dick will take a few more years to stop working. "

"Sorry about my bad mood yesterday, am I still your favorite wife?

Mrs Rickman "

When a stubborn tear slid across the fragile surface of the yellowed paper, the girl finally returned the papers back to the small flowered box and shoved it into the drawer with shaking hands and a searing chest. Her knees were shaking when she practically ran out of the room, closing the door with a thud and sitting against the wall hard enough to make her spine throb. Celine was crying now, so loudly that her chest could be being torn into thin, perfumed skin. It had been so long since tears so profoundly fell from her eyes, she didn't remember the last time she cried so copiously, her hands shaking as she tried to reason a little and move her body. All her limbs were hurting and she was hurting, every single one of her feelings was hurting. She cried for the way she was treated inside each of the walls of the only place she thought was safe, she cried for every time people pushed her, she cried for every scar that had been painted on her body by a man who should to protect her, she cried for the loneliness that continued to choke her chest, she cried for the death of a woman she never knew, she cried because that man she would give anything to have was sinking into a feeling of loss that she could never experience and far beyond anything, she cried for herself.

In the end, she was crying because she had already given her heart to a man who could never give hers to her. Her heart was buried together with Lilian and now she could see every single dead curve of her face, every single scar on her chest and every single spot on her sad eyes.

Celine was washing her face painfully in the sink in her guest room when she heard the door slam, she felt when soft footsteps walked downstairs and a small thud was thrown against the floor before the refrigerator was opened and then closed. She studied her face in the rectangular mirror, her damp hair looked fine, her face didn't look as puffy as it used to, but her eyes were still minimally red. He wouldn't notice, Celine consoled herself as she stretched the patterned fabric of her black pantacourt like the night, he wouldn't notice, she told herself before closing the door.

\- Good Morning. The man saluted, she was sitting at that small table with the chess board while she opened her own pendant book and pretended to concentrate.

\- Good morning professor ”Celine pushed, placing the book right in front of her freshly washed face.

\- I've been thinking about pasta for lunch, what do you think? —The closer he got, the more uncomfortable the student became. Her breath hitched a gear when the director moved a piece from the board and sat down in the chair across from her.

\- Pasta sounds good, I can come down and help in a minute. - He whispered, still staring at the emotionally illegible words from his French literature book. - Do you want to play now? She finally asked, closing her books and taking a deep breath as she tried to keep her features in check.

\- You play? "He was playing with the little carved piece of the horse."

\- I won a championship at my school. ”His voice sounded firmer now, as she looked at his long fingers moving between the pieces.“ Willing to lose more money, again? -

\- What happened to your eyes, Celine? "The smile on her face died when her right hand lost interest in the board and touched that discolored strand of her frontal hair, pushing it out of the way so she could examine her face against the light. - Did anyone come here? Was it an online attack? -And Celine wanted to disappear, she was one step away from throwing herself against that perfectly closed wooden staircase and hoping that her neck would break on her short journey to the ground. The student carefully removed her face, rose from the chair and sat on the small sofa in front of the top of the graceful staircase. Putting your hands in your face and trying desperately to take control of your own emotions. - Celine, if something happened, it is important that you tell me and that I can take the necessary measures. - And now she was crying, really crying, as if her voice was a terrible reminder of everything she had just discovered. The careful tone of the notes, the loving way that Lilian crossed out her name, the care present in the beautiful heart drawn on her birthday note and the sordid realization that her attraction had evolved into an almost blind passion.

\- It's really nothing, there was no attack. I don't know why I'm crying. ”She sighed, holding her hair.

But suddenly he was so close to her that his breath was sounding on the bare skin of her neck, suddenly his warm hands were holding her wrists and pulling them away from his face, the man was spontaneously holding her wet cheeks with his hands and staring into her eyes. with its green immensity. - No problem. He whispered, and she gasped with a sob that made her entire body tremble. When he finally held her in his arms, one hand on her head as he rested her on his dressed chest and the other open against her covered back, Celine thought she would never stop crying.

\- I'm sorry. She whispered, in a small voice.

\- It's okay to cry, Celine. Have your time." The professor insisted, making small circles with his soft hand on his back. The heat in her chest was hammering against her, the pounding of her living heart was lulling her into an almost sick sleep. Her breathing seemed easier now, when her head was flooding streams of blood as her chest beat, soft and smooth. A drum slowly sore against it.

When her sobs subsided to small choppy sighs, she finally noticed that somehow that her brain just hadn't registered, she was very well packed and huddled together with the director of the arts department on that little couch with an impermeable surface. She registered the smooth movement of his chest against his face, soft fingers in his hair and a hand stopped at the top of his spine. She was aware of the legs covered by the dress pants absently crossed against the arm of the sofa, while hers were underneath. She was still listening to her living heartbeat when she disengaged and fell asleep.


	6. sixth verse

"But your eternal summer will never be extinguished."

\- William Shakespeare

Celine had not realized the amount of time she had fallen asleep before she was suddenly awakened with soft fingers on her arm, a gentle squeeze taking her out of her deeply asleep state, the first thing that looked into her eyes was the greenish tone of the professor's sparkling orbs. , the way the sunlight made her hair look like golden threads and her skin even more beautiful. He warned her in an almost careful tone that they should be leaving soon and she should have something to eat, it was already two o'clock when she finally found her phone and noticed the time. They ate in silence, she was too embarrassed to do anything but face the way the noodles leaned against her fork and melted in her mouth in soft notes of white hot sauce. Alan didn't press her for a conversation, she wondered how upset he had been when he had to deal with the nervousness of an infant and stupidly nervous child like her. She wondered how much he would hate her if he knew the reason for her crying, if he knew the disastrous and cruel way she had visited her room, messed with her secrets and smeared her notes with her presence. She was still feeling mortally guilty when she made it a point to at least do the dishes since the man had taken care of the entire meal all alone after his breakdown.

The sun's rays were weak and the streets were cold when they left the house, the professor locking the door before guiding her to his elegant dark car with wide black doors parked by the sidewalk. Inside the car, Celine huddled against her big white coat and sent an alert message to her friend. Returning home with that man was out of the question, she needed to talk about what she had done, pour out the pains of her bitter heart and have some friendly comfort before looking back at him. Oblivious to her temper, the director of the arts department seemed smooth as he maneuvered the car, his long fingers tightening around the steering wheel and his attentive eyes turned to the street. Mitchell registered when at one of the red lights he gave her a second look, in the cold silence of the leather seats, as if wondering if she was waiting under the thick layers of fabric for a moment when he could pour out all that panic attack. a few hours ago. If he was really dedicating a new thought to it, he didn't comment until they arrived at the university's reserved parking lot.

\- Would you mind if I went ahead? I was left to find a friend. She murmured, eager to jump out of the car and escape her oppressive presence as she boned in liquid guilt. The professor gave her a long look as she locked the car, slowly shaking her head as she smiled and walked as fast as she could through the health department so she could cut off and get to her destination as quickly as possible.

Rosalie was waiting on one of the small wooden benches in front of the rectory where the meeting would take place, when the student ran up to her date there were already tears on her face, when the blonde grabbed her shoulders in understanding and kissed her fragrant hair, Celine finally moved felt at home. - I did a terrible thing, Rosie. I really did. ”She confessed, openly, as she sobbed with her broken heart. The former model took her hand and pulled her into one of the many unoccupied study rooms on the ground floor of the building, sitting with her on one of the tables and demanding an explanation consistent with her alarming behavior. Celine did not spare her the details, collapsing on each of the intimate notes and statements scrawled with romantic drawings, on the photo so well kept on the left side of her bed and her recent discovery about her own tormented chest. The blonde was patient and understanding with her revelations, not forgetting that her behavior was not healthy and certainly that touching the only memories of a husband without his wife was also not a very commendable attitude. But she understood, knowing that her friend was already suffering too much from her own mistake, embraced her with affection and proposed a small exit after that meeting, so that they could drown their sorrows in a very large piece of cheese pizza with hot sauce .

\- Miss Mitchell, I'm Edgar Kraus. The man greeted her when Celine passed through the doors of the main rectory meeting room. —I am the representative of the rectory today, I would like to announce all my deepest feelings about the delicate situation in which you were unfairly placed. ”He continued, while Celine sat in front of her chair. Helena was also in the room, sitting at the end of the table, next to the director of the arts department who now seemed more austere than ever. - I believe that Professor Rickman has already detailed all the procedures that we will be discussing today, but first I would like to inform you that all of these contracts will be duly analyzed by your legal representative, Mr. Meyer, all right? ”The rector's lawyer waved his well-shaped blonde beard to the other man, a little older, a few more white hairs adorning his pointed mustache, sitting in the chair opposite him.

\- It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I feel that it is in such unfortunate situations, I will be here to ensure that everything happens for your best interest. ”His pointy belly was pressing against the front of his dark blouse and waistcoat set, but his smile seemed friendly.

\- As previously discussed with the rectory, you will be receiving an amount of compensation for the moral and physical harassment that she suffered within our institution. We would like to discuss the amount of that amount, okay? ”Edgar communicated, pulling a stapled paper from his leather suitcase and turning it towards him.“ At first, we stipulated a value of thirty-five thousand pounds. "The information swept through Celine so hard that she feared she had anything close to a severe respiratory arrest."

\- It is a value well above my expectations. The girl commented, looking into the man's sympathetic eyes.

\- Miss Mitchell, I ask you to reconsider the amount. Remember that this money is a way of repairing all the damage that you have been exposed to in the last few weeks, damage that was not scarce. ”Her lawyer objected, her formal tone of voice matched her formally combed hair. Celine took a second look at the contract and then at her advisor, who lay quietly in her chair.

\- Is there another proposal from the rectory? This amount is considerably low for the situation we are talking about. Celine was exposed to physical violence in the parking lot that our dean keeps her car. - Helena announced, heavy eyes directed at the dark blond haired representative. - Thirty-five thousand is a ridiculous amount. -

\- The rectory is willing to raise the amount to forty-five thousand, but that's all I can do. "Edgar wasn't looking at her right now, he was looking at the lawyer at the other end of the table."

\- It is acceptable. “Your guidance counselor whispered, hands folded on the table. Celine was dizzy.

\- Miss Mitchell? -

\- Sorry, yes. Where do I need to sign? ”The rector's representative tipped him a dotted line and a heavy pen.

\- Next, we would like to inform you that the university is already continuing the process of slander and defamation on the part of the students who started this situation. I must warn you that the money for this action, when judged, will be promptly deposited in your bank account. “The more he talked, the less Celine was able to have enough time to understand the information that left her mouth.” Now, I would like to discuss the indemnity that Professor Rickman will be offering. -

\- I do not want it. -

\- Miss Mitchell, this is part of the rectory process. "Your ex-boss pointed out, looking colder than ice." I'm not offering my money in charity, much less trying to buy your welfare after all this. I am fulfilling a point in the action that we closed with the rectory. -

\- I don't care about the action, I won't get that money. -

\- Miss Mitchell, in the agreement that the rectory closed with his legal representative included the clause where Professor Rickman, responsible for his internship in his office, would have to pay compensation on the actions brought by his students. The teacher was aware of this when we closed the contract. -

\- Professor Rickman was aware but I was not. I will not be receiving a sum from someone who had no involvement in the actions of their students, does the rector believe that their teachers can read minds and see the future? -

\- Celine. ”Helen warned, nervously.

\- Professor Rickman was not aware of his students' actions, so I won't be getting any money out of his pocket. "At that point, the girl was so engrossed in her own puzzlement that at least she was aware of the man's gaze on her from across the table. She could never get her money, he was already offering her a lot more than she ever used to believe she deserved. Her help, her support and her confidence, things that she had proven to be unworthy of. None, absolutely none of them.

\- Miss Mitchell, I understand that there is a friendly relationship between you and the teacher, but it is necessary that your decision be reconsidered. —And Celine was looking at the man as if he were a constant reminder of her latest actions, reaffirming once again his errant nature.

\- Miss Mitchell, the deal has already been closed. Fifteen thousand pounds will not let me down, if that is what your complete dislike of the idea is based, I must also warn you, too, that all my money is the result of lawful work, if that is what you are thinking about. The headmaster's voice sounded offended, and she looked at him in pure confusion. Did he believe, vehemently, that this was what she was thinking? In the dimension of your assets and the source of your finances? The feeling weighed on her chest and made her even more furious.

\- I honestly don't care about any of those things, professor. You owe me nothing, absolutely nothing, it will not be done. ”She went on, furious.“ If that term is not removed from the process, there will be no process. -

\- Miss Mitchell ... -

\- I do not care that everything is undone, remove this absurd point or we will not leave here with an agreement. "The student scored, finally."

\- The term will be withdrawn, miss. I'm sorry for upsetting you. "When the rector's representative finally crossed out that absurd paragraph, the girl nodded positively in her chair and finally completed all legal procedures so that the rest of the process was properly finalized and registered." The amount will be available by the end of the week, again , we are sorry for what happened. We hope that you will again feel safe and welcomed within our institution. —When the blond man shook his hand wistfully, Celine almost expressed that her desire was exactly that.

As soon as the men, formally tucked into pieces of fabric thick enough to make them sound, the room became peacefully cold. A breeze touched her hair when her advisor sat next to her with silent caress, soft fingers on her face and the promise of a kiss on her right cheek.

\- The teachers agreed to make exceptional evaluations for you, the tests will be evaluative works and will be available in your email. Enjoy the rest of your break, Monday I want your ass back in the room. The principal informed, with a subtle squeeze on her shoulder as she nodded to her office colleague and left the room with a sway of mesmerizing hips.

\- I have some things to take care of, but we can be back in twenty minutes. "The man she was offering her home to, so she could poke her secrets and remove the skin from her still-open wound," pointed out, pulling the sleeves from her dark jacket and escorting her to the living room door. in the parking lot? -

\- Oh, it won't be necessary. —Celine finally spoke, out of the quiet room and against the dark and poorly frequented corridor of the rectory. In the shadows of the unoccupied rooms, they made that place a favorite for students to have their most intimate moments, it was impossible for her not to consider that very thin line of her sanity in a moment of pure ecstasy, how profitable it would be to push her broad shoulders back. into the room and kiss your mouth until the lack of oxygen wipes out your own brain. The wooden table would be of great use if the lover of his daydreams had any second thoughts about it, which did not happen, after all, Professor Rickman should have thoughts very similar to those of a powerful figure he had for someone in need. He was there providing her with her lawyer, making the legal arrangements for her situation, welcoming her into her home, sharing her food and her privacy and overcoming childhood nervous crises. If there was one thing he should genuinely think about her, it was probably about how spectacularly inferior she was. A little girl with trauma in the past and no mental capacity to take care of herself, that was what he thought, it was what everyone thought, at one time or another. If she still cried whenever she spied on her scars. If she still heard his voice choked against her ear. If she still saw her life passing in her dark eyes. If she still trembled whenever she smelled it. Whether she was completely averse to the idea of being touched, or if she had developed an emotional dependence on touch. If she continued to look for father figures in her lovers. If she hid her traumatic urges within sex. - I agreed to go out to eat with a friend. I'll take a bus to get back. -

\- It is clear! ”Celine looked at him trying to read her thoughts. The eyebrow raised while he probably thought yes, at least she has a friend. When the man turned his back on her noisily and left her alone in the hallway, she almost moaned as she remembered how unfathomable he was. As she absolutely never had any doubts about her train of thought, or her actions, her chest tightened when she considered that Lilian might be able to read it and that is why he loved her so much.

It was useless to compare to a dead woman, especially a woman like Lilian, who was practically canonized in life and became deified about her coffin. She could never compete with her, there was no competition, the space in the man's life had already been taken by the time she noticed that picture frame adorning the left side of her bed, as well as the left side of his chest. Celine was used to never having what she wanted, deep down, years of troubled relationships with romantically unavailable people trained her for future inopportune feelings. She marched out of the building with a deep breath, while mentally repeating that that man, that beautiful man with a golden smile, that man had nothing for her, that man would never give her anything but his education and kindness. And the only thing she could do to cultivate it was to appear grateful and caress the friendship that could, with any luck, flow over them. She would keep what she was feeling, bury it so deep in her chest that none of those feelings would see the light of day again, and when they were suffocated under the hard earth, she would pull out the handful of decayed leaves and face what could one day have blossomed.

Fortunately, Rosalie was smart enough to deduce that all she was desperately needing was that beautiful slice of Italian pizza with cheese melting her greasy fingers and falling on her chin. The restaurant was half empty due to the poorly positioned timetable, several tables vacated while they were guided gently by one of the polite waiters and served with a small and drawn burgundy menu. The ex-model asked for the wine list, before they started debating sinuously about what pizza flavor they should start their meal with. When they finally came to a friendly consensus to start with one of cheese and chicken, and then move on to the others, the waiter was friendly and kind in accepting their orders and pouring soft wine into their sparkling crystal glasses, Rosie was a sommelier cream, sniffing the liquid deeply before repeatedly turning the cup and placing the drink against your palate, murmuring a soft satisfied moan and indicating that the man would fill his glasses.

\- You are obviously aware that this cannot end well. The woman began, crossing her long hands with nails perfectly painted in an almost childish shade of green. Unconsciously, Celine stared at her own fingers blandly and thought that maybe, if she had some time left the next day she could go to a beauty salon and get her nails done, it had been months since she accepted whatever she liked. same. Her hair deserved a good cut too, she could use a good skin cleansing and some treatment on her hands and feet. After all, she had some money left over from her now, she should use it.

\- Being aware does not mean that I can do anything to change. She replied, without taking her eyes off her worn nails.

\- Not having accepted to stay at your house could have been a start. - Embarrassed, the student rolled her eyes for a long time and took a big sip of the bitter wine. Rosalie liked those, the darker liquids with a greater amount of alcohol and making the grapes feel overwhelmed in the middle of the strong mixture. - Don't be cynical. -

\- I'm not being, I just ... - The brunette insisted, exhaling deeply as she sank down more steps into her own miserable life. - At the time it seemed like a good idea. -

\- I'm sure you did. —Rosalie signaled, when the pizza slices were politely slid onto her crisp white china plates. —Don't renew your contract at the end of the period. - She advised at last.

\- It was already in my plans, I am considering using the indemnity money for the exchange in Canada. - She confessed, finally.

\- When do you want to go? -

\- At the end of the period, I want to finish my research here first. -

\- And how long do you intend to stay there? -

\- One year at least. -

"You deserve it, I'm sure you do." ”There was an almost sad tone to her voice, Celine noted, holding her hand over the table and silently informing her that she would also miss him. It wouldn't be forever, she consoled herself. She would have a time, a long time, to deal with herself and stifle each of her feelings. - In the meantime you should imagine that his cock was small. ”The former model indicated, in an almost casual tone. The brunette comically choked on her food, coughed painfully as she choked on the soft pieces of tomato and mixed an unforgivable laugh with a moan.

\- I hate you. -

\- I'm serious, he has to have a defect, you know. "Her slice of pizza was halfway through when Celine managed to organize herself minimally presentable again, clearing her pathways with a generous sip of water before staring at her deadly.

\- He has. "The girl replied, her eyes bright." He loves his dead wife. -

"What are the chances that you want the only man in all of London who really loved your wife?" "It could be funny, if it weren't terrifying." He has to have another defect, one worse than that. "When the dark curve of your perfectly flawless brow moved, Celine took the opportunity to resume her meal peacefully now that her throat was no longer burning." Perhaps he is selfish in bed? -

\- He always lets me have the last potato chip. -

\- Cum! "Rosalie murmured angrily." Is the man a goddamn demon? "When the next piece of pizza arrived, and his glasses were full again, she started again." He can be an emotional asshole. -

\- Very low chances, he comforted me until I fell asleep on his couch. - She explained her, casually drinking.

\- His cock can be very small, however. -

\- I never saw his dick. -

\- Are your underwear printed? -

\- This conversation is becoming worrying. - The brunette warned, amused.

"Did you go to your room and not take a look at your underwear?" -

\- What does this have to do with the size of your dick, should I look at the size of the labels? -

"Well, did you look?" Her friend offered her a suggestive look over her half-empty glass of wine, a fierce gleam in her eyes.

\- Of course not. —Celine announced, offended. - I'm not at that level yet. -

\- Didn't you look at the size or didn't you look at the pieces? - She insisted, like a little demon envoy with innocent blue eyes.

\- I didn't look at the size. - She admitted, chewing her pizza embarrassedly.

\- Were they stamped? -

\- No. -

\- Smooth? -

\- Yea. -

\- Dark or light colors? -

\- What is it? Color psychology in underwear? "The ex-model was already rolling her eyes."

\- Answer at once. -

\- Dark, they were almost all dark. -

\- Oh gosh. "When the blonde hit her forehead dramatically on the glass table, the woman in front of her widened her eyes in constipation, looking at her carefully." Your dick is big, of course your dick is big. "The graduate student felt a small puddle of flame on her spine when she swallowed the rest of her wine and poured herself more." A man like that, he couldn't have had a small stick in a million years. -

\- I know. -

\- Heavens! I hate him. ”With her glasses full, Rosie tipped her up and smashed her glasses. - For handsome and emotionally unavailable men. -

They toasted, for the first time in a few long months, Celine felt that she could celebrate that.

After a lovely elderly couple decided to occupy the table next to them, the conversation regarding the size and sexual gifts of the art history teacher ended in a knowing look and a half-shy smile. They even had fun with Rosalie's constant fight to admit that she was, very casually, falling in love with the literature professor in her department. It turns out that Helena, unlike the other teachers, was not an impossible woman to be contacted and they pray bad languages, very open to sexual relations without loving ties. Celine leaned forward while listening very carefully to the amazing plan her friend had set up to be able to attract that peculiar attraction of her teacher, she was very willing to give up any other reservation about herself when she decided that she would offer herself very clearly to the woman. Personally, the brunette believed that that kind of approach could enchant a wild and fearless Helena, in fact, she could even visualize how mortally excited the brunette teacher would be. Rosalie was a woman with huge pale legs, deep pale eyes and sculpted lips that made her envious, it would not be difficult to give in to her charms. By carefully swaying her shaped hips, the wavy movement of her full breasts dangling from her fine-knit shirt and the charm of her short gold-colored threads. It was not like Celine, thin arms, shy bust and narrow curves like a metallic edge of a boat about to sink, nothing like Celine, Celine and her confused and lost eyes, Celine and her fervent demons continually peering out of her head with eyes of diamonds and boiling mouths. Not like Celine, timidly insecure, millimetrically embellished with her psychological instability and wildly sarcastic to be able to take more than a few quick steps in the direction of sexual attraction. At least not with men, she had never been one of the nice girls to touch and called from the boys in her room, she never was. She was the girl for whom the boys ran on test days, at the time of teaming up for jobs that were worth a certain score or on the eve of some important task. Over the years she has learned to counteract that transparent addiction to seeking validation of male figures, using her brain to win over women much more than a few years older than her age, reveling in their presence and fervent kisses. Being with women was infinitely more beneficial and beneficial than being with men, except when there is someone very specific in your eyes, someone engraved inside your eyeballs and that does not make room for substitutions.

It wasn't about preferences, Celine most certainly preferred to keep her bed frequented only by women. It was about the one thing she could never send, ever. And that was for whom her chest voluntarily opened, he was open to a single man, at that moment.

It was just after ten when she finally got out of the cab smelling of wet cigarette on the street of the well-located residence, the front door was unlocked and the small bunch of keys lay inside the lock, Mitchell turned the small silver key and the left on the glass table in the living room. She looked around, worried that the man might be close enough to notice her nervously cheerful and sensually drunk countenance, after silently climbing the stairs in her bare feet and carrying her yellow pair of casual shoes, she concluded that the man should have a more normal sleep routine than yours. Her eyes captured the yellowish glow under her door when she entered the guest room and locked the door, the tidy bed stared at her with disdain as her nerves were forced by the ease in which they had indulged in the sweetened alcohol. The student genuinely indulged in a long, relaxing warm bath, sinking each of her demons in hot water and hoping that they could retreat back to that part of her head that was too dark for her naked eyes, the mirror reflected a handful strewn with wavy hair, his face slightly hot from the water temperature and his dark circles now less evident. When she cleaned up all her makeup, exposing each of the small imperfections on her face, those acne spots from her traumatic teenage years, the shadow of a scar above her eyebrow and that sun spot on her right cheek. She thought of Rosalie. Rosalie and her magically perfect face, her skin pale enough that at the slightest sign of blood, she took her apples in lovely pink heat. She wondered if Lilian had one of those faces, a flawless face, flawless skin and flawless eyes. Seeking to end her useless session of even more useless comparisons, she threw away the small cotton pad with make-up remover and washed her face gently before leaving the bathroom with boiling steam. Rummaging through her backpack, she found the small cotton lingerie set she ordered from that adorable store near her favorite florist, they were sleepwear. They were sleeping clothes with someone. But she didn't care, the upper lace fabric was all embroidered with black flowers, forming a T-shirt with two lace straps that made her breasts transparent through the fabric. The bottom could be called a comfortable, wide and completely transparent panties, the lacy fabric let your skin breathe and was a healthy recommendation.

Celine remained tucked away in her own computer for the rest of the night, until her eyes were throbbing and the pieces of sweet pies she had brought were looking at her anxiously. Putting on her usual short silk robe asleep and hanging from the headboard, she slid with careful feet down the quiet hall and holding tight her small package wrapped in bread paper. The house was silent as she crossed the corridor and tried to spy on the darkness of the room if the light in her room was still on, he had already caught her stealing his refrigerator in the middle of the night once, it would not be polite if he took it a second. But as soon as her feet touched the warm wood in the living room next to the kitchen, her eyes went straight to the fat flame in the ornamental fireplace.

\- Miss Mitchell, there is no need to tiptoe around the house all the time. ”The bag with her pies fell to the floor and the noise bothered her keen hearing, panic surged through her veins like pure adrenaline and consumed her heartbeat.

\- Shit. She whispered, retrieving the three small clear plastic bowls. The chocolate-covered piece clung to the plastic and a small feeling of frustration engulfed her eyes. "Sorry, sir. -

\- Did I ruin your evening snack again? ”When she finally turned to face his eyes, her chest sank a little more and her fingers automatically gripped the audible paper wrapper. The director was very self-conscious of where he was, occupying one of the sofas where they had earlier mixed in sleep. Her long legs were covered by dark sweatpants, a cold blouse with a deep collar that left some of the subtle hairs on her chest, the warmth of the fireplace was making her epidermis red and her eyes hot. Celine felt suddenly hungry when she met his eyes, the strands of hair now in a lovely shade of dark brown and the dark glasses balanced over her ridiculously pointed nose, her fingers were concentrated on the small hardback book on her lap, her legs were making her dizzy. The almost obsessive way the man was holding his book, long fingers pulling the pages forward, shoulders spread over the back of the sofa and one of his bare feet against the upholstery while the other leg was extended for a long time. The easy way that her mind walked to her quickly ignoring her packages and crawling to the gallant center of her pants, stroking her thighs sweetly as she pulled that elastic waistband down and cradled his cock inside her anxious mouth. Celine blinked so hard that her head throbbed, clearing her throat as she feigned a friendly smile and shrugged her shoulders.

"I brought you my lunch this time, but I was on my way to empty your stock of black tea." "She finally replied, hoping that her precariously sexual delusions of swallowing her boss, very kind and very positively unavailable, would go unnoticed." I brought you a piece, I was hoping to leave it in the fridge. "The man didn't move when she walked over to the small dark upholstered sofa, sitting slowly on the unoccupied piece, safely away from his sweatpants and opening the dark bag for him." I have dark chocolate, berries and lemon. Choose one. -

\- Don't have preferences? The professor probed, closing his book carefully as he stared at the package.

\- I'll be happy with anyone. ”She had secretly tasted each of them while she was snacking with Rosalie, there was nothing wrong with the dark chocolate, but she figured that one could please the man more than any of the others. She hoped to get his taste right, there would be more than merely affective satisfaction in that, it would mean that she wasn't reading so badly wrong.

\- I'll take that then. - Rickman explained, taking the piece of chocolate pie. The student almost jumped on her heels in excitement, smiling as she waved and stood up.

\- I'm going to rob your closet now. ”She stated, holding her pies protectively. - Maybe we can play chess when I go up? "Again, that arousal cake over your throat." The art teacher opened the small plastic container, the icing on the cake was stretched over the lid, and the man was quick to drag his index finger over the edge and lick the tip. Celine had tasted that flavor, she damnly knew every trace of that topping and staring at the almost erotic way that chocolate sneaked over the other's tongue was burning his insides. He looked at her gently, taking the rest of the cover off the plastic again.

\- Are you willing to bet money on that? The professor asked, astonishingly amused.

\- I'm willing to put pie in it. The brunette argued, her lips tightening.

\- We have a deal. ”He finished, closing the damn pot.

Mitchell took his time around the small automatic kettle, trying to ration as logically as possible to dissipate whatever remnants of the fine art director's thin, sensual mouth closed around his wet finger. The things she would be able to give up to taste the damn cover of her finger, soaked in her mouth and absorb every detail spread over her tongue. Dipping the black infusion bags into two deep mugs, she let her brain process each of the malicious images in order to get rid of that torment right away. Chess, unlike snooker, required much more of her logical thinking than of her physical abilities. It might be indicated that she seek her genuine calm before setting out on a suicide mission for the screaming set of beautiful legs and attractive face. She considered going back to her room and changing her outfit, which was not helpful if her situation became a little more evident, and in view of the image of who would be waiting for her in the upstairs room, she would certainly need more layers of clothing between her body and his, if he wanted any chances. When the hot liquid hit the glasses with herbal infusions, her mind drove her back to her memories with Rosie. Celine took two steaming mugs of coffee and two forks upstairs, sitting at the small intimate dark wood table with that beautiful chessboard lined up and carefully cleared.

\- Here it is. The brunette announced, placing a mug in front of him and offering him a fork. -

\- The last time I gave you an advantage I lost a lot of money. - The teacher replied, taking a carved wooden pawn black and white, hiding it behind in his hands and extending two closed hands in front of him.

\- And me imagining that you had been, in his words, a gentleman. —Celine replied, amused. Staring at his hands with an arched eyebrow, searching his face impassively for a second before gently touching his right hand, when the teacher opened it, the white pawn rolled into her palm. The student murmured, taking the small piece between her fingers and studying the stuffed tray gently. It had been a few long months since she had proposed to play a good game of chess, the girl had been champion of her school a few years ago, the knowledge couldn't just slip out of her head like a lost memory. She moved her pawn carefully in order to avoid an en passant and freeing up space for her bishop to move more freely. Her opponent followed in her footsteps, moving her pawn to free her rook and bishop. Celine's opening followed, releasing her pieces and slowly dominating the middle of the board, it was important to have movement once the game had been established. After this firm opening streak, Alan took the lead in a series of offensive attacks, forcing her to make a few swaps in her centerpieces if she wanted to continue to dominate the board. When she moved her horse to the left, finding the professor's vulnerable tower, once her fingers capture the black piece, an advantage shone in her eyes. But the man apparently enjoyed an advantage of his pawns, moving his borders further and oppressing the bishop of Celine, forcing her to retreat in fear of losing his guards. The second she moved her queen to make her way, the man raised a ruthless eyebrow and leaned back in his chair with the cup between his fingers.

\- Thinking of your surrender, professor? Mitchell questioned, pulling an exuberant piece of his lemon tart and licking his lips slightly as he stared at his thoughtful countenance. Very quickly, she regretted her movement, watching the speed in which her green eyes moved from piece to piece was deliciously frightening.

\- Just thinking, Miss Mitchell, perhaps you are familiar with the term. The man repeated his words, stubbornly and in a painfully sensual tone as he sipped his sweet tea and studied its routes. Celine knew that he would not push her back, his game tactic was predominantly offensive, if she was smart enough and cautious enough, she would break through her barriers and let him infiltrate to surround him in her quarters. It would take it in its territory, if it placed the right prey.

“Is it part of your strategy to look at the board until the pieces move with the force of your mind?” She poked, trying to contain her excitement with yet another caloric dose of confectioned lemon pie. The candy melts on her lips and wipes away her senses.

\- Is it part of your strategy to distract me? The headmaster countered, stretching his long fingers to his immaculate bishop in the white house.

\- Am I distracting you? —Celine suggested, relentless in her goals. The girl would have a greater pleasure than the sexual one in dominating that intelligent man with some intermediate movements of a forgotten chess.

He did not answer when he dragged his piece and captured his pawn, the graduate student was prepared, it was part of his plan to sacrifice some of his houses so that he could take a step in his space. Mitchell registered his accusing look and rolled a lovely pair of dark eyes, his skin was already warm when he registered the steps he could take. If she attacked to his left, he would flee with his protected queen and erect a battle wall around his king. If she took the right, she could lose a rook and a precious bishop at once, it wouldn't be worth sacrificing so much for an additional move. If she backed down, the man would not be stupid enough to eat his victim's move and could reinforce his attack and surrender his king. Celine stared at her pieces once more, feeling her robe draining over her shoulder and thanking the small gentle breeze that flooded the room, the hot pressure was consuming her epidermis as if it were made of paper, her fingers grabbed her horse and pushed him away. deeper in the center. By increasing the central pressure, the director would have very few movements other than using his side pieces and facilitating an opening for her to move. To his happiness, the man ate his bait and tried to dominate the right side with his strong horse and that impertinent pawn preventing his rook from reaching the most offensive line, the director rested his head on his left hand and raised a careful eyebrow while counting the entire the defensive line on the right before giving it a studied look. Chess was not like card games, the opponent's intention is never in her face, it is always in her movements on the board, however, the man was still looking at her face as if she were going to tell her strategy. Instead, Celine raised her eyebrow reflexively and narrowed her dark eyes carefully. That was when she finally captured it, almost so quickly that she escaped her attention, green eyes sweeping quickly over her bust before she tilted her lips and moved her piece. The man was staring at his practically naked torso, she concluded, finally. In the deliberately desperate pressure to concentrate on the game, Celine had forgotten that her robe was sliding over her shoulder with almost overwhelming ease, the overcoat fabric was silky enough to slip through the smooth lace of her sleeping set and crowd. on your elbows. Her first impulse was to pull the fabric and cover herself, but Rosalie's voice invaded her thoughts, already slightly intoxicated by the recent wine and she decided to test where that exposed piece could take. If she was right, the most she was going to earn was a look of contempt strong enough to make her want to wear a thick blouse for the rest of her life.

Celine ran a silent hand over her exposed neck, fingering the small embroidery on the strap from her practically transparent shirt and stared at the board. Her opponent's gaze against her breasts was burning, physically prickling her skin, her nipples were already properly electrified as they rubbed against the fine lace fabric of the delicate cotton bra. She needed to keep her attention focused on escaping the central pressure of the board that her pieces were making, if the director continued to dodge his central attacks he would leave his diagonal vulnerable and she could move her pieces more offensively along that line and thus render her pieces that guarded the king. When her dark eyes lifted from the pieces, the man in front of her was staring at her so intently that she could have sworn she was being fucked hard against him that very second, as if her powerfully green eyes were crawling fire on her skin when she, even more courageous by her gaze, she carefully licked her silver fork and poked a little at the top of her chocolate tart.

\- I think I like yours better than mine. Mitchell lied, licking the cover against the cutlery's unyielding rods and turning his attention to the bishop who was going to move. The girl knew exactly what her next move would be, she was holding on to the tension and exposing more of herself than she could to make him shudder, if she could hit him with attraction, all was not lost. Except that the man was probably not seeing a semi-naked woman in front of her for some time, she assumed, of course. She had never seen him leave the bar with any company. He had a picture of his wife in his bed, he wouldn't have sex with anyone there, would he? He could always take his mates elsewhere, but he wasn't really the type to go to motels. Attraction was a matter of course, she insisted on her fanciful head. His interest in his exposed skin was much more for his skin than for her, men are always more driven to visual desire than women, if another woman was exactly where she was and showing him exactly that amount of skin needed, the damn man would also be looking. - Do you want to try mine? -

\- I beg you pardon? ”The bewilderment in her voice was enough to make Celine even more wet.

\- My pie, do you want to taste it? She repeated, in detail as she smiled innocently and offered him the small plastic wrap. The professor pulled a small piece with his own fork and slid it into her mouth, Celine moved her bishop and leaned against the comfortable chair. The director opted for an offensive move from his diagonal and left a defenseless side, yet he took with him an important horse for white's strategy, the center was now his biggest pressure point and apart from him, the man would slaughter each one of them. your moves. Incidentally, they ended up stealing pieces of their pies with almost natural ease, when their hands hit each other, it was the man who pushed away her skin and let Celine steal another piece of her pastry.

In the end, lemon and chocolate seemed to be better shared than taken alone.

By this time, Celine was dominating the board with two strong barriers, protecting her king with care and pressing more and more firmly into the center. The art history professor was concentrated in his chair, one finger touching the tip of his sensual nose while his green eyes insisted on roaming the board like a damned caged eagle. The match was won, his only chances were if the man miraculously found a hole in his tower barrier and surrendered his king before she pressed again on his weak side. Celine could already taste the victory when she maneuvered her pawn and sacrificed it in order to infiltrate even closer to her queen, the girl wrapped her fingers in the piece of wood and celebrated silently with stubborn eyebrows, but when she met her eyes carefree greens, she knew she had lost.

Professor Rickman responded to his attack with a quick check on his unprotected king when she surrendered her pawn to hit her queen, her guards had dropped so dramatically that she was not paying attention, her entire game was focused on giving her a distraction with pressure so that he could reach his king, but the man was prepared to eat his bait and still get around his pierced barriers.

\- Check. —The director announced, very sure of himself. And rightly, there were not many ways to get rid of her capture, she could postpone the attack but it would be covering the sun with a punctured pan, her bishop would find his king two next moves. Picking up from her own miserable tactic and lack of battered attention, Celine took a deep breath, staring into her green eyes and took her last sip of tea. The girl was so ridiculously concerned with dominating the board with defensive pieces and showing her damn bare skin, that she didn't notice when the director changed his game tactic right in front of him, he wasn't being offensive, he was distracting her with his impetuous pawns to let her free her towers in search of her queen and leave her king vulnerable.

Carefully, Celine pushed the piece of wood carved with a king and sighed slowly when the noise reached her ears.

\- You tricked me. ”She saw the obvious, impassive face.

\- His strategy was the same, somewhat more offensive, I must admit. "The man was happy, his lips were curved in a smile so beautiful it made every hair on his body look more attentive and his brain became gelatin." She swallowed her defeat when she saw the twisting of crooked lips, she would give up her victories just to see him so human again.

\- You offered me your queen. She insisted, still astonished.

\- Celine, you offered me your skin. "The director of the arts course was still smiling, but Celine lost her breath, her lungs stopped working and her neurons were no longer sticking their stimuli in the right places again." Is it really about distractions that you want to talk about? -

\- Be a happy man, you won your pie. ”She commented, trying to sound as far away from the bloody mess that went on in her body.“ If you take a game worth a pie so seriously, I wonder what you would have done if we had bet money. - The student commented, rising slowly and still letting her silk robe remain huddled on her elbows. Her thin lace shirt was leaving very little to the imagination, but she had already been caught up in her stupid plan long before she could even think about it.

\- We can test it another day. —The teacher replied, putting the pieces back in place.

\- Want help cleaning up this mess? ”She offered, arms crossed.

\- Go reflect on your defeat, Celine, I can handle it. Her voice poked, making her stomach turn to ice.

\- Can I at least taste the damn pie? ”He was already unpacking the small plastic package on the table, pushing the tray away and stroking the cover with his fork. Mitchell was well aware that it wasn't the taste of hellish pie, it was the taste she would have had only if she had beaten the damn man. Licking a pie from defeat didn't make it any tastier.

\- Feel free. ”Alan offered, stood up and pointed the large piece of soft cake wrapped in that thick layer of white cream with small pieces of red fruit and embedded citrus juice. She studied her situation, it was late enough that none of it was considered minimally acceptable between two people like these, she didn’t have much more to lose now, the man had noticed her distracting and still beat her in his damn game, there wasn’t how to get worse, at least, she could get something out of that situation. Licking her lips, Celine took courage enough to hold the man's empty hand, fold her fingers against hers and slide her thumb across the cake topping. The pale thumb resurfaced from the mass covered in white cream and red dye, she took another step into her personal space, her chest was almost surrendered to hers when she met his carefully green eyes and peeled off her lips. When the phalanx of her thumb touched the base of her tongue, Celine was looking into his eyes, sliding her lips around the sensitive flesh, gathering all the coverage of her skin and lightly brushing her teeth on the sensitive dermis before pressing her lips together and feeling , just for a minute, while your finger brushed your lower lip just for a blink of an eye.

\- Good evening, Professor. The brunette greeted, licking her lips with almost demonic devotion. She didn't stay to hear if he would respond, or if he was going to throw harsh words at her, in a moment her spine was against the door and her nervous system was broken.


End file.
